Alaina Urquhart

So buckle up, bitches, because there are some hairiest heck tales and also apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors as I have dyslexia.

Whoop whoop.

You're killing it so far.

Yep.

I was going to apologize for the length and say to cut it short if you want, but I know you two absolutely will not do that.

Never.

I'm going to kick things off with E.T.

Both of these tales are my marvelous mothers, but it's all G. She hath given me permission to share them.

So here we go.

Let's tip back to 1970s Ireland in the back arse of buttfuck nowhere Ireland.

Let's go.

My mother is the fourth youngest of 12 kids.

Wow, bless your grandmother.

Yes, my grandmother is one amazing woman.

Evidently.

That's why I want her on my book jacket.

Anyway, it was mid-October, and while my mother's parents were out playing bingo, because what else would you be doing on a Friday night, my mother's older siblings decided to be extra cute family fiends and give my mother and her sister some money to walk to the little shop about a mile from their house to get biscuits and juice.

Hardcore.

It's important to note my mom was about 13 at the time, and her older sister was 17 or 18 years young.

Now, remember, we were in rural Ireland in the 70s here.