Dear God, This Parachute Is A Knapsack!

“I’m just going to be the person who trolls everyone and picks out all the currants from the trail mix bowls.”

ILB nodded sagely, as he does, and said “It’s a good person to be.”

We were standing under one of the festive marquees on the premises of The Fancy House, waiting for a buffet to commence. It was a family gathering, as is wont to happen in this family. Except, at this one, a lot of extended family and friends had shown up.

There was the local vicar, who when I mentioned wanting to go and visit my mum after the summer looked at me in earnest and said “Ooh… her mother… Is this wedding talk?”

There was the distant relative who struck up a conversation about clothing regulations in firms with me (a freelance writer who works from home) and Biker Boy (a manual labourer/Himself’s sister’s boyfriend). Then, alarmingly, she changed the subject to the relatives present and started dropping the word “blood” all too often.

There was ILB’s grandmother, who told him several times to “start looking for a better job”.

I dunno, you pick and choose your miseries at these gatherings, right?

Luckily my discomfort at having to socialise with people I didn’t know was softened by Biker Boy and Freckles, who most likely hadn’t been introduced to this side of the family before either.

Back home I started to think about my own family, and specifically my mother. And suddenly, I wanted her to be here, so I could give her a massive hug.

Thus endeth my slice of real life for now. Normal smutty service will resume shortly.

 

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