I came downstairs to find my sisters and mum sitting at the table. My mum looks at me and asks, “What do you have on your lips?” I reply, “Vaseline, my lips are really dry.” Silence falls over the table – suddenly, everyone’s tuned into our conversation.
Then my mum follows up, “Where did you get the Vaseline from?”
My sisters start sniggering while I stand there like I’ve just devoured a whole bucket of fried chicken, grease all over my mouth.
Now, I’d used the Vaseline from my parents’ room – it was the only Vaseline in the house. I wasn’t sure if I’d get in trouble, so I stalled. That’s when my sister pipes up, “If you used the Vaseline from Mummy and Daddy’s room, go wash your face.”
Turns out, the Vaseline in my parents’ room was exclusively used by my dad to lubricate his piles and shove them back up his bum. Everyone in the house knew this – except me. It was apparently on a need-to-know basis. And now, I knew.
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