what happens when you confuse genealogy with gynaecology

Being concerned of late with the genealogical aspects of my family, I thought it might be an idea to head to my local library to peruse microfiches and old newspapers with the ambition of finding out more about my lineage. I still haven't got everything clearly sorted in my mind; some of the more technical taxonometrical distinctions still elude me, for example. Anyway, one is tempted to surrender all effort when surrounded by the ignorance of the general public. A conversation with a suspiciously pikette-looking girl at the next table over went something like this: (and perhaps in retrospect I should have known better than to start a conversation with someone proudly bearing 5 carat worthless pieces-of-shit earrings the size of a small African country)



Girl: "What ya up ta then?"

Me: "I'm tracing my family's genealogy."

Girl: "That's farking disgusting! Fink I'm gonna be sick or sumthing!"

A look of incomprehension registers on my face for about half a minute. Eventually I manage to say something.

Me: "Wh .. what?"

Girl: "D'u know that shit is illegal, innit?"

Backpedalling sufficiently to realise the probable mistake she's made, I try to explain. After all who can blame her? She clearly hasn't been in school because she's been down the local A & E popping out a fucking disgusting sprog called Armani or Peaches every year.

Me: "I think you're confusing genealogy with gynaecology. The former is the study of your family tree, the latter is the study of ... erm ... feminine ... hygiene ... yes, hygiene."

"Former?" "Latter?" Why the fuck couldn't I have said "first" or "second"? I might as well be talking to a brick wall.

Girl: "I still don't trusts ya, know what I mean? Neway (her mobile phone rings loudly) I must go. Kid to feed and all this!"



I think I need to lie down. Now.