Last year my parents came up to see me perform at the Edinburgh Fringe. The Fringe has been a big part of my life for years, but they hadn’t yet been to see the mythical gathering that I rabbit on about all the time.
My folks quickly learned that handing out flyers or being bombarded with flyers is a large part of the Festival experience, and decided they wanted to try being the paper-shover rather than the paper-shovee. I was reluctant ’cause no one enjoys flyering, but they insisted so I gave them a small stack of flyers each, and carried on trying to get strangers to take a piece of paper with my face on it.
“Come see my talented daughter?”
“You should see this show – my daughter’s in it.”
“My talented daughter.”
As sweet as that was, the fact that my mom is proud of me is not* a reason for anyone else in the world to come see my show. However, this year I am apparently a top pick of Edinburgh Fringe poetry shows according to:
So yeah, my mom** was right. As per bloody usual.
* Actually my mother’s got excellent taste, but I digress.
** Yes I have a mom not a mum. I’m half yank. Ner.