aunts aren't gentlemen

P.G. Wodehouse is my favourite source of zippy, breezy linguistic houpla, definition-wise, and he has a lot to say on the subject of aunts. The hapless Bertie Wooster is frequently a victim of aunts, and my favourite quote is his comparison between desirable and undesirable aunts, from the book whose title forms my subject line: ...my good and deserving Aunt Dahlia, not to be confused with my Aunt Agatha who eats broken bottles and is strongly suspected of turning into a werewolf at the time of the full moon. At other times Bertie is heard to observe, breezily, that It is not aunts that matter, but the courage that one brings to them.. Particularly, one assumes, when aunt [is] calling to aunt like mastodons bellowing across the primeval swamps.

Given this edgy, threatening aspect of aunthood, it is not surprising that he feels something should be done about them: In these disturbed days in which we live, it has probably occurred to all thinking men that something drastic ought to be done about aunts. Speaking for myself, I have long felt that stones should turned be and avenues explored with a view to putting a stopper on the relatives in question. If someone were to come to me and say, "Wooster, would you be interested in joining a society I am starting whose aim will be the suppression of aunts or at least will see to it that they are kept on a short chain and not permitted to roam hither and thither at will, scattering desolation on all sides?", I would reply, "Wilbraham," if his name was Wilbraham, "I am with you heart and soul. Put me down as a foundation member." This suggests that his is a profoundly pessimistic view. It is no use telling me there are bad aunts and good aunts. At the core, they are all alike. Sooner or later, out pops the cloven hoof.

I seem to have been generally lucky, aunt-wise; while I remember some absolutely terrifyingly dotty great-aunts, in fact my personal aunt-collection is far more in the Aunt Dahlia than the Aunt Agatha mode. I don't think I have an aunt that I dislike, and I cherish happy memories of the total genius some of them had for really good birthday and Christmas presents.

This bi-polar approach to aunt-classification is suddenly particularly important, since as of 10am this morning, I am one, and am faced with the stern family duty of Aunt Dahliahood. (Sister's baby born after horrible long labour and an emergency Caesarian, but all now well). While I suspect I may have a streak of inner Aunt Agatha not unrelated to my inner Granny Weatherwax, if the welfare of my niece means giving up broken bottles, werewolf transformations and bellowing, then I will not shrink from the task. Particularly since I think my sister is more than capable of applying the suppressive collar and chain should I regress...

Things You Might Not Have Known About Me, #8: I'm an aunt. Also, a total P.G. Wodehouse fanatic.