How many kinds of aunts are there? On any visit home, I can be sure to run into most of mine, and they could give Bertie Wooster a run for his money. There is a flurry of them, descending in gaggles at different points of the day, sending me into a rictus of despair with a look and a raised eyebrow, reminiscent of past demeanours. It seems their only purpose is to drive a wedge of fear into my thudding heart as they wait for my stammered greetings to cease so they can upbraid me about my under-whelming life.
My maternal
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