I don't know about anyone else's Christmas but mine was a doozie. Christmas Eve was spent watching my flatmate interrogate the chap I’ve been seeing.
“What are you intentions?”
“I don't have any!”
“Bullcrap, I'll say again: what are your intentions towards Flick?”
“To give her anything she wants?”
“What if she wants a PS3 and Battlefield 3?”
“Is that what she wants?”
“Answer the question!”
“In that case you have my blessing.”
I needn't point out that my flatmate is a git. The last thing you need when you plan to slow down, if not stop a relationship is someone like him sticking his end in. Of course I expect my male readers to sympathise with my 'situation' more than my female readers.
The 'situation' sorted itself when I finally met the chap's parents later that day. It turns out that I'm a crude, ghastly drunk who was attempting to sully their only child. At least that's what they told him when they thought I was out of ear shot just before we left. I know he was tempted to tell his parents to get stuffed and be a rebel but I also know what a mummy's boy he is.
|This is image is being used ironically because I don't care.|
All I can say dear readers is phew! He was a lovely chap but I have no desire to be an MP's wife or in this case, a wannabe MP's wife and that's precisely where this would have ended up if it hadn't been snuffed out; with commitment, responsibility and partnership. All those terrible things that can happen if you embrace adulthood. No thanks. Indeed, I'm now footloose and free as we see in 2012.