Rabbit Food

Like most mothers, my mum has a knack for keeping a well-stocked fridge. You know, "Just in case someone passes by in a hungry mood". This generally refers to my brother, who's a habbit of dropping by and raiding the fridge like locusts raid a Australian cereal crop.

But this week, mum's fridge looks like a whole supermarket's moved up and taken residence inside of it. Amused by this, I turned to the source for some elucidation:

"Mum, were you like high on something when you went shopping this week, or did the news about the impending crisis in the Middle East simply work on the hamstering reflex?"
"What's that, hun?"
"Your fridge... it's... well... it looks like you're expecting the next Ice Age or something?"
"Oh that, yeah... I played golf this week."

At this point I was seriously starting to worry about how the current heatwave might have affected my mum's state of mind.

"You played golf?"
"Oh, yes. Tournaments. I played two golf tournaments this week and won both of them. Food. I won food. I'm no longer a rabbit now, isn't that exciting?!"

I put down my glass of water, stared at her and said:

"You're no longer a rabbit. I erm.. I hadn't realised you were... a rabbit, I mean"
"Oh I was a rabbit for months!! I've been upgraded now though, my handicap's gone down a few points."

It was at this point that I realised I should really start paying attention when people talk to me about Golf. It turns out Golfers have a very strange sense of humour, categorising their players according to their handicap level, "rabbits" being one of those categories. So I'm guessing mum's been upgraded to... well, I don't know what to exactly, but I'm guessing to a less-fluffy variety of Golfer. And the success has earned her enough food to feed an army. I dare not browse the fridge shelves for their content, for fear of the lot crashing down on me should I stupidly decide to move an item. But I guess I won't go hungry during my viva prep. Three cheers for rabbit food.