Full Casualty Report
Felt a need to separate the previous insanity post from this one…
The party itself was as bloody as predicted. I was forced to stand around the hall feeling spare-partish and blatantly in the way for the hour and half before it started, during which Him and His family were preparing food, setting up lights, refusing my help etc etc. And they didn’t even open the drink. Once the party stared, I spent a lot of the night sitting behind the DJ set-up with Him, downing glass after glass of cheap wine and avoiding all the ‘when are you having a baby?’ questions. I counted a total of eleven similar enquiries. To which I used my friend Zez’s advice of grace under pressure and just smiled politely and changed the subject.
Managed to get a few hours at home on Saturday as predicted, where we slept a bit, fought some crime, and then He got up while I lay in bed, read a book from cover to cover, and ate leftover sausage rolls that we smuggled out of the leftovers box. Sad to say this was entirely the highlight of the weekend.
Saturday night’s dinner party was again a minefield of social interaction. He and I caught the train up there very happy and cheerful with each other. My insanity had almost been forgotten, and the only thing still ailing us was our hangovers. Once we arrived at MIL’s, we got stuck straight into the wine with a serious vengeance. I was about to start pacing myself when she started opening her presents. Mars and Venus and Cuck and Riptorn has told us that they were clubbing together to buy her a new 'hifi'. They had neglected to mention that they were also buying her myriad other presents. Therefore the wedding picture in a sleek glass frame that we had spent so much time and effort choosing was discarded with barely a smile of thanks.
My feelings could be best described by the text I sent to my beloved Nambo: “How is it possible to be paralytic and still not be drunk enough? I need you to rescue me like you did at the wedding with pints of water and cuddles”. He replied with much laughter and brotherly sympathy. My poor Him was trying so hard to hide His upset and disappointment He was rendered almost mute. After all, however bad they make me feel, they're His actual family, so the pain must be multiplied tenfold...
The dinner itself was sabotaged mainly by the placement. Trying to mix children with adults at a long table of fourteen people is never going to lead to stimulating conversation. He and I were stuck in the middle with the Freak Northerners at one end (can’t be bothered to name them properly), children on both sides and opposite, and Mars and Venus, Cuck and Riptorn at the other end. Amused ourselves by getting horrifically drunk and teaching the children how to play ‘slaps’ and other inappropriate games.
Got home finally about eleven, after forking over £50 for food that was very nice, but primarily used as a tool for soaking up alcohol. Wrote off Sunday as hangover recovery, and did nothing more productive than fight some crime and watch Eastenders.
So… all in all an appalling waste of a weekend. Have agreed that we will never subject ourselves to such torture again. One more reason to add to the 'move the hell away - quickly' pros list.
The party itself was as bloody as predicted. I was forced to stand around the hall feeling spare-partish and blatantly in the way for the hour and half before it started, during which Him and His family were preparing food, setting up lights, refusing my help etc etc. And they didn’t even open the drink. Once the party stared, I spent a lot of the night sitting behind the DJ set-up with Him, downing glass after glass of cheap wine and avoiding all the ‘when are you having a baby?’ questions. I counted a total of eleven similar enquiries. To which I used my friend Zez’s advice of grace under pressure and just smiled politely and changed the subject.
Managed to get a few hours at home on Saturday as predicted, where we slept a bit, fought some crime, and then He got up while I lay in bed, read a book from cover to cover, and ate leftover sausage rolls that we smuggled out of the leftovers box. Sad to say this was entirely the highlight of the weekend.
Saturday night’s dinner party was again a minefield of social interaction. He and I caught the train up there very happy and cheerful with each other. My insanity had almost been forgotten, and the only thing still ailing us was our hangovers. Once we arrived at MIL’s, we got stuck straight into the wine with a serious vengeance. I was about to start pacing myself when she started opening her presents. Mars and Venus and Cuck and Riptorn has told us that they were clubbing together to buy her a new 'hifi'. They had neglected to mention that they were also buying her myriad other presents. Therefore the wedding picture in a sleek glass frame that we had spent so much time and effort choosing was discarded with barely a smile of thanks.
My feelings could be best described by the text I sent to my beloved Nambo: “How is it possible to be paralytic and still not be drunk enough? I need you to rescue me like you did at the wedding with pints of water and cuddles”. He replied with much laughter and brotherly sympathy. My poor Him was trying so hard to hide His upset and disappointment He was rendered almost mute. After all, however bad they make me feel, they're His actual family, so the pain must be multiplied tenfold...
The dinner itself was sabotaged mainly by the placement. Trying to mix children with adults at a long table of fourteen people is never going to lead to stimulating conversation. He and I were stuck in the middle with the Freak Northerners at one end (can’t be bothered to name them properly), children on both sides and opposite, and Mars and Venus, Cuck and Riptorn at the other end. Amused ourselves by getting horrifically drunk and teaching the children how to play ‘slaps’ and other inappropriate games.
Got home finally about eleven, after forking over £50 for food that was very nice, but primarily used as a tool for soaking up alcohol. Wrote off Sunday as hangover recovery, and did nothing more productive than fight some crime and watch Eastenders.
So… all in all an appalling waste of a weekend. Have agreed that we will never subject ourselves to such torture again. One more reason to add to the 'move the hell away - quickly' pros list.
posted by Mookmoo at 10:34 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home