Episode 72 – Not All Monsters Roar…

Not All Monsters Roar (Some Wear Cardigans and Make Trifle)…

I once submitted a receipt for hoover bags. Hoover bags, folks. Not diamond-studded ones. Not antique ones. Just plain, functional dust-hoovering bags because, shockingly, dirt exists.

I was on social welfare at the time, and it was a simple reimbursement. No drama. No debate. Or so I thought.

I’m standing in the kitchen when Bully – the human embodiment of a flat tire – picks up the receipt, squints at it like it’s written in ancient Greek, and then turns to Fanny.

‘Should I reimburse her?‘

Like I wasn’t even there. Like I was some stray cat that wandered in off the street and was now putting in expense claims.

And in that tiny, tragicomic moment, the clouds parted and I saw it – the truth of it all.

Bully was never the real problem. He’s just the blunt instrument. The tantrum with legs. The walking ‘no’ button.

But Fanny?
Fanny’s the one pulling the strings in this three-ring family circus.

Bully might throw the punches, but Fanny hands him the gloves. She makes the rules, changes them halfway through the game, then acts shocked when you get disqualified for breathing incorrectly.

She’s the queen of the covert coup. The silent assassin. The puppet-master in beige.

Over the years, the signs were all there. The whispered side conversations. The ‘accidental’ omissions. The decisions that seemed to appear out of nowhere but somehow always landed her right where she wanted to be – feet up, spoon in the trifle, while everyone else was scrapping over crumbs.

She’s the kind of person who’d burn your house down and then turn up at the vigil with flowers and a casserole.

And you find yourself asking, late at night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling like a Victorian ghost, what is actually wrong with people like this?

Is it inherited? A bad batch of DNA? Did they get dropped on their head as a baby and land on the ‘malevolence’ setting?

Do they just get bored and think,
‘You know what would be fun today? Turning one sibling against the other and seeing who cracks first.‘

Or maybe, just maybe… they get a sick little kick out of it. The power, the secrecy, the fact no one ever points the finger at them because they’re ‘so quiet’ and ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

Lads – it’s always the quiet ones.

Anyway, moral of the story: every family’s got a Fanny.

Can you think about who it is, in yours?

Lesson of the Day:

‘The loud ones might bruise your ego, but it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch. Power doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it whispers, smiles sweetly, and hands someone else the knife.’

Trust your gut when the room feels off. It usually is.