There are some of you (those who follow me on twitter and regularly interact) who are aware, some not. It really doesn’t matter, for I won’t reveal much more here, but it can be a tad weird at times: to be related to someone who is famous for something.
Reading the news you regularly read how the niece, nephew, cousin, aunt or whoever related to a famous person, got arrested for some kind of misbehaving. It depends on how famous the person is, how many relatives, friends etc are involved in the ‘being important for a news article’. Sometimes the famous person him/herself is barely interesting enough to write anything about, it seems. Most of those people seem to be contestants of talent/reality shows. Not all, but a lot.
The first sign I got of ‘things are happening now’, was when I was home alone. The phone of my parents’ house rang and I answered, since I was naturally born a Secretary of Anything (Un)Important.
Just kidding. I suck at it. I’m not like Bubbles, and still that’s the closest comparison I have at hand. The Ab Fab version, not the Michael Jackson one.
I simply can’t let a phone ring.
It scares the crap out of me to phone anyone, but letting a phone ring is not my natural habitat.
It was someone I didn’t know. This happens. But somehow this was weirder. It wasn’t a telemarketer, which I was used to swear at when that happened. It was someone of some magazine. At first I thought I was being sold something, but I finally got the hint.
It was a journalist.
A friendly woman. As this was my first time, she was very gentle with me, asked me some questions, which I politely answered. Nothing much important. The kind of family the Actual Famous One was part of (big or small? Religious or not? Education background? stuff like that), who I was (and don’t you just LOVE to talk about yourself, you little twat? Yes, you do…oi!) and so on. It was a bit like talking to a therapist. Or filling in one of those forms you have on the internet. When you know the answer to a question, so feel so lured to answer, you can’t help yourself.
After a few questions I realised The Actual Famous One might not appreciate my efforts quite that much and hung up.
I rang to my dad after that, telling him:
‘It has started now, I was just phoned by some magazine to give an interview about The Famous One’, which made him laugh very loud and say:
‘Goodness! Well, let’s see how it turns out then!’
After that, I texted The Actual Famous One. Who was less pleased I answered questions, but chose the polite way of telling me: ‘hey sweetie, I don’t blame you, but next time please don’t tell anything anymore’.
Ever since, I’ve seen The Actual Famous One (who claims ‘I’m not famous at ALL, what are you on about?!’) getting photographed with all kinds of fans and being called ‘sexy!!’ on the internet and so on.
It’s weird, but fun. To observe.
When The Actual Famous One was expecting a baby, I jokingly said: ‘I haven’t seen anything in the gossip sections of the newspapers yet?!’ and I was assurred, again: ‘I’m not that kind of famous!’ so I thought ‘OK’.
Only to see the message had gotten through after all, just a wee bit late. A few weeks before the due date, the gossip news found out. Then there was the moment that The Actual Famous one posted a pic on Instagram. This was picked up by several news sites aswell. Which The Actual Famous One was even less pleased about.
On the plus side: I’ve never been asked for any information about The Actual Famous One since that particular interview by phone.
In fact, the other day when there was a birthdaybash at The Actual Famous Ones’ home, some other Famous Colleagues came by. Being part of a bigger ‘nest’ of kids, someone did ask me:
‘So, who are you?’ and given that we had never met, I introduced myself, telling I was a sibling.
‘There’s ANOTHER sibling? I’ve never heard about your existence?’
Yup. My life in a nutshell. Oh well. It’s still good fun. Really. It is.