don’t eat pork,’ a voice echoes my own. Everyone looks towards the end of the table, where the kids’ table is. Josh is grinning widely.
‘Excuse me?’ my auntie says to her son.
‘I don’t eat pork,’ he continues as he eats, much to Max’s amusement.
When I let Josh and Max watch Pulp Fiction I knew that they wouldn’t tell their parents on me, but there’s one thing I didn’t anticipate happening – something that is inevitable when you watch a Tarantino flick – they caught the quoting bug.
I glance down the table at them, pleading at them with my eyes not to take this any further, but they’re not looking at me, they’re having too much fun.
‘Why not?’ my uncle asks his son curiously.
‘I don’t eat filthy animals,’ Josh replies.
Everyone in the room is still baffled, apart from Dan’s older brother Mike who is chuckling to himself – he’s clearly a fan of the movie. If this situation wasn’t all my fault I’d probably be amused too – and impressed, Josh is nailing the delivery of these lines, and he has remembered them perfectly. It’s true what they say, children have minds like sponges.
‘They root in shit,’ Josh elaborates, clearly on a roll. ‘That’s a filthy animal.’
On hearing her ten-year-old son say shit, my auntie snaps her head to the right at an impressive speed. The smile is immediately wiped from Josh’s face when he realises how angry his mum is, and just how much trouble he’s in.
‘Where did you hear that?’ his mum asks him.
‘I don’t know,’ he replies, fooling no one.
‘Max?’ my auntie asks her son’s partner in crime, but he’s frozen still and completely silent.
‘Josh, tell us where you heard that,’ my uncle demands, sounding angrier and angrier as he says each word.
Just keep your mouth shut, Josh. This will all blow over.
‘It’s Pulp Fiction,’ Mike says in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Little does he know, he has just sealed my fate.
‘Where have you seen…’ my auntie’s voice trails off as she turns to face me, this time her movements are slow and sinister. ‘You!’
My auntie points at me with her knife, and whether she just happens to have it in her hand or she’s actually planning to stab me, I decide not to take any chances and jump up from my seat. I move around the table as I try and explain.
‘You let my son watch a “fifteen” rated film,’ she shrieks as she tries to chase me around the table.
‘I think it’s an “eighteen”,’ Mike unhelpfully chimes in, which only makes my auntie angrier.
I’m too busy trying not to get stabbed to notice what everyone else in the room is making of this, but I know for sure that no one is doing anything to intervene.
‘It’s a classic,’ I reason.
‘A classic that’s full of swearing,’ my auntie yells.
‘It isn’t gratuitous swearing, it’s all in context,’ I insist.
‘Actually, I think it features over two hundred and sixty uses of the F word,’ Mike muses.
‘Piss off, Wikipedia,’ I snap, which provokes an unimpressed reaction from everyone in the room. Everyone but Belle, that is, who looks delighted that universal balance has been restored. Everyone hates me again.
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