Once upon a time, my grandfather had 200 goats.
See, addictions and weird obsessions are a thing in my family. If there was a family business to be had here, it would be going waaaaay overboard with things you wouldn’t think you could be addicted to.
so yes, at one stage my grandfather had 200 goats. he didn’t milk them or farm them for anything useful. He just let them breed and roam into other people’s farm land.
I’m sure it was quite traumatic for his kids, a the time, but I wasn’t born back then. So I find it hilarious. Hilarious and useful.
because whenever my mother comes to me and says something like; “You’ve been on that computer all week,” or “I haven’t seen you eat anything but tea and toast for two days,” or, “yon ipod has been hanging out of your ears for a fortnight now,”
the only reply I need is a shrug and “at least it isn’t 200 goats.”
and all she can do in return is sigh and concede because, yeah. Its not 200 goats.