Scarlett’s Letters: Partying Like a Hun

Dear James —

My Mum, a.k.a. ‘the Hun,’ started throwing parties long before I came along, and for as long as I can remember; literally, my first cognitive memory was somewhere between the age of one and two, or maybe it was near two o’clock in the morning? In any case, my bedroom door was slightly open, the glow and melodic chatter of a happening party seeping through the crack. I was standing, holding onto the edge of my crib, screeching at the top of my lungs, overwhelmed by an urge to join in the festivities and fun. If this event is so well imprinted into my memory bank it’s because I can clearly recall the feeling of fresh pooh in my diaper bouncing along to the rhythm of my discontented feet. (TMI? We’ve all crapped ourselves, darling.)

What I was later told, yet have no recollection of save for in imagination and dreams, was that on nights like these the Hun would gather me and sit my down in front of a VHS of Blade Runner,