We were sitting around the dinner table, having had a delicious roast lamb cooked by Jay. We had some GUKs (grown up kids), their partners and my niece-in-law and her partner, and we were reminiscing about our teens. Jay said that she used to visit my mum every evening with her trannie in her hand. Transistor radios were called trannies in the 1950s, the latest invention, and Jay, working as a nanny to our neighbours, (we lived on the country, and our nearest neighbours were a couple of hundred yards away), had used her wages to buy one.
Everyone burst into peals of laughter, and made fun of Jay. Me, I just smiled, thinking that she still has a trannie as we often hold hands and cuddle. I looked across the table and our niece (who is 50 plus and has a figure to die for) was looking straight at me. I’d been throwing in girlie mannerisms, as I try to do anyway, with my long fingernails in view, and I suddenly wondered if she had put two and two together?
I’ll never know most likely. How can we capitalise on these moments? Sadly, never, I guess.
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