Chapter 2 - Across Canada - sick of jello

I hope I never have to eat anything made with Jell-o again. I thought Mom’s cooking was bad with all the tins and packets and never anything homemade. Or Babby’s, with everything overcooked it’s grey, no matter what it is. But this was worse. Last night we had cold beef and tomato soup in Jell-o carved into blocks that sat on the plate with other blocks and mounds of Jell-o salads, green and orange and yellow. It was like eating traffic lights. “So inventive Winnie dear”, said Mom in that fake voice she uses when she’s with people she doesn’t really like or think are important. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many ideas for cooking with Jell-o in my life. It must have taken you years to perfect your repertoire.” I was relieved to see that Auntie Winnie saw it as a compliment and beamed. And then for dessert, jellied salad! This time with tinned mandarin oranges that I picked out, and little coloured marshmallows that Sam picked out. Sidney said she was trying a new diet and couldn’t eat anything made with sugar or salt and then snuck out in the evening to buy cream soda and chips and chocolate bars at the shop down the road to eat in our room. She even let Sam and me have three chips each and a bite of chocolate bar.

Sidney got out her ‘Teen Beat’ magazines which meant she didn’t want to talk to us. At least it’s better than when she practices kissing herself on the arm or the mirror. She thinks we can’t hear her but the sucking sounds she makes are disgusting. I really wanted to practice twirls to prepare for taking ballet classes but I didn’t want to look stupid in front of my sisters or get made fun of so I got out the playing cards to practice the Poker hands Babby has been teaching me, hoping that maybe Sam would want to join in. Instead, Sam took off all her clothes, lay down on the rug and tried to see how many playing cards she could fit on her body before they fell off. “How mature,” said Sidney, sounding a lot like Mom.

Sam made a face and answered “Oh, eat festoons.”

I thought Sidney was going to choke on her soda but it all came out of her nose in two lines of lemon-lime snot. “What?” she sputtered.

“Holy Batman, a river of snot!” I cried moving out of the way.

But Sidney was not to be put off and repeated her question to Sam, “What did you say?”

“I said ‘eat festoons’.”

“What a stupid thing to say. Do you even know what festoons are?”

Sam thought a moment, “Something you eat.”

“No they’re not you idiot. Festoons are decorations, streamers and stuff. You can’t eat them.”

“Why not? You can eat anything,” and then as an afterthought “ except maybe a car.”

“You can’t eat festoons.”

“It’s a metaphor,” I said trying to sound airy and intelligent and to help Sam out. I saw that word in a book once and it sounded brainy. Sometimes Sidney is so superior.

“A metaphor. For what?”

I had to think fast. “For something rude that Mom wouldn’t let us say.”

“What’s a metafur?” Sam asked.

Now we have a new favourite saying. We said “eat festoons” all the way into Ontario today and killed ourselves laughing every time Mom asked “What does that mean?” and Sam screeched back “It’s a metafur!” I felt so great that we had a joke all three of us share, not just the other two like usual. Even when Mom got testy being laughed at, it felt great.