At Least She Gives Presents

Every family has one of them. Her name might not be Myra. She might not actually even be an aunt. But in any case, she (or he, I suppose) certainly is crazy. Yeah, you know who I'm talking about.

Crazy Aunt Myra.

She may not even really be a part of the family. She may have moved into the house next door years ago when you were just a kid and your parents went over to welcome her to the negihborhood, complete with a basket of fresh fruit and a casserole. Crazy Aunt Myra may have been an older woman, living all alone whom your parents sorta' adopted. Your parents may have invited her over for meals, or ask if she could babysit. They may have brought her Christmas presents, and sent you over for an apple every Halloween or to help her build a gingerbread house every winter.

Little might they have known that she always had two gingerbread children with the house, whom she always saved for herself. Little might they have known that you always threw out the apple. They may have always invited her over, they never may have seen the inside of Crazy Aunt Myra's house.

Crazy Aunt Myra may have been gone on expeditions every summer, off to the Himalayas or the Amazon, and returned old wooden boxes and hand-made bags which she snuck into the house under the cover of dark. Your parents may have thought she was visiting her family, or possibly in Flordia. Your parents may have not peered out their window late at night to see the single candle burning, or to see her outside, carrying a book and staring at the stars.

Your parents may have not visited her kitchen and seen the huge cauldron and the glass jar full of eyeballs. Or maybe olives, but probably eyeballs.

No, your parents may have not seen all of these things in your Crazy Aunt Myra. You may not have either, but you at least didn't need to to know that she's crazy.

Why else would anyone want to wear purple when they get old?