Everyone has a handful of stories they like to tell over and over again. Over time they become part of our personal mythology. We tell them so often that where they begin and where they end up are miles apart, as we smooth the rough edges and define the narrative threads that hold them all together.
One of Tilly’s favourite stories is about how Einstein always wore a pair of shoes that were a size too small for him. He did it for the sheer relief of being able to take them off at the end of the day, and let his squashed toes run wild and free.
In the car the other day I remarked upon how wonderful it would be to get home, where I fully intended to take my contact lenses out and my bra off (I’ll keep the teeth in), and what an absolute relief it would be to do so.
Oscar piped up from the back of the car. ‘Yes! It will be just like the story of Frankenstein!’
Quizzical silence from entire car load of people…
Oscar: ‘Yes! You know! Because his shoes were too small…’