A few weeks ago I sent some spit in a tube to a shady organisation and paid them money to harvest my DNA from it. In my defence, I did get a substantial discount.
I was hoping to find out that I have a load of Neanderthal Ancestors, or failing that, some kind of noble tribal lineage. But the Ancient Origins option would have cost a whole chonk more money, and my discount only covered the most basic package.
Which is appropriate, as it turns out that I am also the most basic package. Yes, I got my DNA test results back this week and it turns out that I’m mostly Gammon. Actually, mostly Scottish Gammon. The only mildly exotic parts of me are French, German, and Dutch. Basically, if you’re looking for a boring, basic white European, it me.
Anyway, so yeah, it wasn’t really worth it because now I’m down 15 quid and some creepy, Murakami-style ‘organisation’ has got my DNA. I don’t want to get too paranoid about it, but obviously that’s going to place a lot of power in the hands of my enemies.
I fully expect there’ll be clones of me popping up all over the place now. Maybe a sort of Jurassic Park situation, but with middle-aged ladies instead of dinosaurs. Or maybe middle-aged ladies with dinosaurs. I can see myself befriending a stegosaurus, maybe after some hilarious misunderstandings when we are assigned to the same case by the grumpy T-Rex chief of police. (I’ve never seen Jurassic Park.)
In the meantime, it seems I have several second cousins, some of whom look like they remember the original Jurassic Park, if you get what I’m saying. (I’m saying they’re old.) I haven’t bothered getting in touch with any of them, mainly because none of them look like fabulously rich and bored people who are seeking a weird, middle-aged lady artist to shower in cash. Not that you can always tell by looking.
I’m joking, obvs. The main reason I haven’t got in touch with my new-found extended family is because I don’t even have time to talk to the people I already know, what with one thing and another.
One of the things is my other substack, which I’m behind with because my brain melted like plastic grass last week. I actually had a whole podcast recorded and ready to go but when the heat finally broke and I listened back to it, I realised that I would rather die than let another human hear it, even one of my very own clones.
Another thing is that I started on the HRT patches the GP (reluctantly) gave me (despite my being unmarried) and now I have to spend at least 30 minutes a day weeping about something or other, like my basic heat intolerance or boring genetics. I’m not sure the weeping is what’s supposed to happen, health-wise, but if I go back to my GP I fear I’ll end up being sent for the water cure in some Victorian asylum for hysterical ladies. I bet he rues the day they shut those places down. Rues it big time.
Of course, there is always the potential to gain a lot more spare time in future, if only I can get one of my DNA clones to do my admin and weeping for me. It won’t be as much fun as riding around on a stegosaurus, solving crimes, but I do have a few second cousins who might take turns giving her piggy backs. So maybe it will all work out for the best in the end.
Consider subscribing or upgrading so you don’t miss out on the episode where one of my clones is gored to death by a triceratops. If you already pay for my writing, I thank you. If more people were like you, the world would be a wiser, kinder, and WAY better-looking place.
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