So I read this and I had this flash back to Wednesday. “So when’s the wedding?” my aunt says, chopping up veg. There’s that hush, all my aunts and my mum are in the kitchen. I’m just there to get tea and for a moment I try and think of any weddings that I’ve been invited to. This comes up a blank, I don’t know of any weddings. Then I realise that in my quest for a cup of Assam I’m blundered into a fucking ambush and the wedding that they’re referring to is mine; only I haven’t proposed to anyone.
Then another flashback, if you’re bipolar you have flashbacks within flashbacks and this one is of dad, who is nigh on deaf yelling into the phone, “he’s bringing his girlfriend!”. He meant C. They mean C. They think C is my girlfriend.
Everyone is down for dad’s 80th Birthday party, it’s one of those family things and so C is presumed to be part of the family. “Actually, she’s not my girlfriend?” There’s that disapproving silence. “Is she not? We thought that she was”. This is actually a conversation I’ve had multiple times.
Now for the record, C is not my girlfriend. We’ve not even had sex. The closest I get to sex with C is maybe a cheeky squeeze of her huge boobs. Later on we’re at the dinner table. Another of my aunts asks, “So how long have you known her?” “About ten or twelve years” I say. My aunt shoots me a sideways glance of disapproval and says nothing. Then at the meal this aunt is sitting by C and myself. “So how long have you known each other?” C answers. “How did you meet?”. Then another disapproving look.
All bloody week, “So how long have you known C?”