When I visit my parents, my mother tends to feed me up. It's her natural instinct, which is only heightened by the fact that despite my best efforts I've remained rather firmly entrenched around the 55 kilo mark since I was 15 years old. However, I eat a lot for my size. My friends and family joke that I have hollow legs, because I am usually the first person to finish dinner and ask for dessert, and then two hours later start poking around to see if any dinner has been leftover and needs attending to.
The problem with this is that when I visit my parents, I automatically start eating my way through their food supply, to my father's horror. Luckily when Mum and I got home on the Sunday, he was out playing golf, so I was free to graze as nature intended.
Mum: Sometimes I'm really glad we only had one child.
Me: Have you got any more cheese? Or ham? Or both? Can I have some of these crisps as well? Is that cake?
Mum: (sighing) Yes to everything.
My father arrived eventually home, delivered a short speech detailing exactly how his golf game had gone while my mother glazed over as soon as he started using the actual terms, and then headed for the kitchen.
Dad: (yelling) Where are my biscuits?!
Me: (slowly crunching) No idea.
Dad: I see. We must have rats.
Me: You know what it must be? Cupboard Ferrets. I hear about them on the news.
Me: Yes, they're awful. Apparently an infestation of Cupboard Ferrets can eat one, sometimes two whole packs of dark chocolate digestives in one day.
Dad: Uh huh. And the other stuff?
Me: Well, they'll eat anything. Or so I hear.
Dad: It's funny how they only seem to appear once every few weeks. Must be a seasonal thing, or perhaps to do with the moon.
Me: Mmm. You should probably put traps down.
Dad: No, don't worry, I'll just guard the biscuits and then break their necks when they appear.
Me: Right. That might be kind of inhumane. I'm just saying.
There was a brief silence.
Mum: What's happening? Have we got mice? I don't understand you two half the time.