Freakishly weird

Oh brother of mine, you are freakishly weird but I love you.

This, on our way home from school last week caused some bemused looks from my mother. Was this a compliment or a slur? Was it designed to make the Bug happy, or as a put-down of the most withering variety? Who knows? It’s just something I say. I was asked to elaborate:

He is freakishly weird because he loves Skylanders so much.

That, no-one can argue over – he is, and he does.

You, Mummy, are freakishly weird because you’re just too organised.

Daddy is freakishly weird because of his singing.

My friends are freakishly weird too:

L is freakishly weird because she always gets everything right. I mean, that’s seriously freakishly weird. How does she do that??

P is freakishly weird, because whenever you say “C’m’ere little freaky person” she goes all freaky and just starts yelling “freaky, freaky, freaky!”

And E is freakishly weird because she can bark just like a real dog. Come to think of it your sheep impression makes you freakishly weird too, Mummy.

I was asked, if everyone is so freakishly weird, what’s the deal with me?

Oh, I’m just freakishly weird because I am…

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