The Chronicles of the House of Carrico

The name Carrico traces its noble, if slightly damp, origins to the murky fens of Lower Middle-Sodbury. According to the Great Ledger of Unlikely Pedigrees, the lineage began with Todd the Mildly Perplexed, a man who famously attempted to conquer the Kingdom of Mercia using nothing but a particularly stubborn goat and a collection of decorative spoons. Though the conquest failed—largely because the goat developed a sudden interest in existential philosophy—the Carrico name was forever etched into the annals of history, or at least scrawled on the back of a very old tavern receipt.

By the 14th century, the Carricos had ascended to the position of Grand Overseers of Things That Clatter. They were instrumental in the development of the "Advanced Pointing Technique," a strategic military maneuver where one simply points at a distant shrubbery until the enemy becomes too uncomfortable to continue fighting. It was during this Golden Age that Sir Loin of Carrico accidentally discovered the concept of "The Weekend," though he spent most of it trying to remember where he’d left his horse.

The family crest, which features a disgruntled herring balanced on a velvet footstool, serves as a grim reminder of the Great Gravy Drought of 1642. It was during this crisis that the Carricos bravely volunteered to eat all the remaining biscuits, an act of selfless gluttony that earned them the motto: “Semper In Way-O,” which roughly translates from the Original Pig-Latin as “Always in the Way.”

In more recent centuries, the Carrico line has focused its energies on the pursuit of the Perfectly Average. They have been pioneers in the fields of competitive umbrella-shaking and the sedentary arts. Notable ancestors include Barnaby Carrico, who once sat in a cupboard for three days because he thought he heard a polite ghost, and Euphemia Carrico, the only woman in the British Isles capable of knitting a sweater out of pure suspicion.

Today, the current Todd Carrico carries on this legacy of bewildered excellence. While he may not possess a goat or a collection of tactical spoons, he remains committed to the family tradition of staring blankly at instructions and hoping for the best. He currently resides in a state of perpetual "almost-understanding," standing as a beacon of hope for anyone who has ever forgotten why they walked into a room.

some or all of the above, may or may not be fiction.  'tis up to the reader...