because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Saturday, 12 December 2009


So there I was, midnight on a Saturday, reading 'How to be Good' for the gazillionth time in whilst waiting with the engine of the car running and the light on, wearing something very ugly but very warm, outside of the pub for The Parents.

I am allegedly in my prime. Early twenties, educated, not too bad to look at, prospects, no responsibilities. Yet on that Saturday night, what had I done? Not a jiffy. I'd gone to visit my parents and they went out. Pathetic.

I should have been out having casual sex with boys in bands, wearing skintight leather and purple stockings with matching underwear that looks better on the floor than it does on.
In some parallel universe I was probably chain-smoking under dim lights whilst erotically swaying to the hypnotic rhythm of some androgynous looking fella that I'd later seduce with my easy wit and sexual charm. I was no doubt up all night doing naughty things and forgetting to take my make-up off, but still waking up looking like Rachel Weisz instead of needing to go back to bed for at least another two to four hours and has anybody seen the paracetamol because my head is sodding killing me?

The parents, however, had been to a gig. (Incidentally, though, they pronounce it 'jig'). There was a live band. Music. Beer. Probably lots of people having fun. They are old. Can you have fun when you are old? Not only that, but they have their friends over on a 'sleepover' and so I was actually up most of the night- but unfortunately for me it was listening to them eating cheese in the family room because they all had the munchies.

Verbose Auntie was waiting with The Parents and their friends to be picked up too. Three of them bumped heads and elbowed each others faces to get into the backseat, with one more in the front and another in the boot with a coat over his head.

"S'bloody good night," was the unanimous agreement.

"I as got a french stick an a new packet-a-Lurpack if anyonesinterested," volunteered Verbose Auntie to us all, as way of invitation for a nightcap.

Dad giggled. "Is that for emergency use only then?" he asked. Sniggers all round.

"No, I as got batteries for dat". More laughter. "I just pray i don't die. If you ever wake up and me curtains are closed at lunchtime, save my dignity for me wontcha?" Verbose Auntie slurred. "Throw it on the log burner. Don't let 'em find me with it."

"Dealth by dildo?" somebody offered. Hysterical giggles now.

"DON'T LET THEM FIND ME WITH IT!" she repeatedly said, quite loudly now. For whose benefit I'm not sure.

"Shall we bury you with it?" Mama enquired. I'm not sure she really understood what we were talking about.

By way of reply Verbose Auntie said, "I like the real rabbit. Eric."

"D'ya wanna be buried with him?" Mama asked.

"Not if he is alive."

Mama continued. "Oh. I went to school with a boy called Eric. His dad drove a purple car." She began to drift off.

We arrived home.

"I'm gonna go walk my dogs on the green now," Verbose Auntie yelled, stumbling over her garden gate to where she lives across the road from The Parents.

"Urm, I don't think she has any dogs," somebody said.
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