Friday Follies - I'll Have Scrambled Eggs with My Star Trek Please

The exact living room of Star Trek and scrambled eggs.
Nothing screams 70's décor like red shag carpet.

When we were very young, Mum was mostly a stay at home mum.  As mentioned in a previous blog, Mum was always there for us before school, during school and after school.  It was a bit more traditional in those days.  Dad went to work and Mum looked after the household and the kids. 
Mum still wanted to get out of the house (and I am more than sure that she needed a break from the three of us), so on Thursday and Friday nights and Saturdays Mum would go out to work.  She worked at a department store (Sears) in the coat department.  And on these nights, our care rested solely in Dad's hands. 

Dad was/is a good father, but I'm not sure on these nights that his parenting skills were top notch.  Yes, we were fed.  No, we didn't die.  It was always scrambled eggs and toast.  Nutritious and consistent.  Surprisingly, we weren't served another of his staples for dinner, Cheese Thingies.  For those that don't know, Cheese Thingies are grilled cheese on toast.  And it was either Star Trek or Hockey Night in Canada night.  Like chicken noodle soup and the Flintstones, I will forever associate Star Trek (the original, of course) with scrambled eggs and toast.  The Hockey Night in Canada theme music will cause a sense of nostalgia to well up inside of me too, but I don't associate it with any food.

Scary Star Trek Monster. 

I don't know if Dad knew this, but Star Trek could be quite terrifying to a child of about 6 or 7 years old.  After I was tucked into bed, I would look helplessly at Dad as he left the room.  There was a sense of urgency while trying to fall asleep, making sure that no body parts were hanging over the edge of the bed with eyes squeezed tightly shut.  Everyone knows that if you can't see it, it doesn't exist.  It's funny how as a kid you could get yourself in to such a state - a sweater draped over a chair took on the silhouette of an evil being, ready to bite off fingers and toes with sharp pointy teeth, or to whisk you away, never to see your parents again.  Some of these childhood fears linger.  I still cannot fall asleep with a closet door open or even a little ajar.  The door must be closed.

Unfortunately my ever-suffering husband knows this, and thinks it's HILARIOUS to leave the closet door slightly open, and re-open it after I close it and walk away.  I always win by eventually shrieking at him 'No Open Doors!', much in the manner that Joan Crawford screamed 'No Wire Hangers!'.

Open closet doors are scary things.  And guess what?  Clawde likes to open any sliding closet or room doors that we have closed.  I will often wake up in the morning to discover that all of the doors are just slightly ajar (the exact amount ajar for monsters to peer out while you innocently slumber).  Which again proves my theory that cats are assholes.  With a wicked sense of humour.

Spock's cat was most likely an asshole too.