He must breathe through his arse
My mum's getting married tomorrow, in a ceremony that redefines the phrase "low-key" - I get the impression she only just about got around to telling me about it, when she remembered she'd need a couple of witnesses. In fact she let me know by text, adding "if you can't get the afternoon off work, don't worry about it."
When she first got divorced Mum was adamant she never wanted to get married again, and has been perfectly happy just to live with her other half for the best part of the last decade. But as she's getting older she gets more worried that if anything happened to her he wouldn't have any rights to stay in the house, and as far as I can tell that's the sole reason for the trip to the registry office tomorrow. Knowing her, she'll probably be back at work on Friday.
I, however, will not because I figured if I was having Thursday off I might as well have Friday too and make it a long weekend. So as far as I'm concerned it's now the weekend, yay! Frankly it couldn't have come at a better time because by the end of today I was on the verge of throttling one of the people at work. As well as the usual barrage of information about how he'd have to take lots of work home with him (because he's too busy in the office TALKING ALL THE TIME to actually get it done,) and how the sun shines out of his daughters' arses (fatherly pride is one thing, but with the amount of detail we get I'm dreading the day we hear about his eldest's first smear test,) today we also got a running DVD commentary on everything he was doing. And not the good kind of DVD commentary where you find out interesting stuff - I mean the kind where someone walks into a room and the director says "and now he's walking into the room..." The man can talk for so long without pausing for oxygen, he must breathe through his arse. By the end of the day when I was trying to show someone how to do some of my work while I'm away (which he was already struggling with) only to get interrupted mid-sentence, every sentence with some sarky comment about how it didn't really need doing anyway, I was on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
...And relax. Which I now can, 'cause I don't have to put up with any of that again until Monday. Frankly, I expected a bit more reaction from Vanessa to the fact that she'll have to get through two days at work without me - howling, hair-pulling, loss of bowel control, that's about the acceptable minimum, but there was none of that. Maybe she was putting a brave face on it.
In the meantime I've got my mum's wedding tomorrow, at which I'll get to see my sister, who finally escaped from all the red tape and came back from Greece last Sunday. A couple of people have said I must be a bit weirded out by having to go to my own mum's wedding, but to be honest it's barely crossed my mind. Maybe it's because they've been together so long they might as well be married already; or maybe it's because my mum herself has been so blasé about it so far that it's hard for anyone else to get too excitable.
When she first got divorced Mum was adamant she never wanted to get married again, and has been perfectly happy just to live with her other half for the best part of the last decade. But as she's getting older she gets more worried that if anything happened to her he wouldn't have any rights to stay in the house, and as far as I can tell that's the sole reason for the trip to the registry office tomorrow. Knowing her, she'll probably be back at work on Friday.
I, however, will not because I figured if I was having Thursday off I might as well have Friday too and make it a long weekend. So as far as I'm concerned it's now the weekend, yay! Frankly it couldn't have come at a better time because by the end of today I was on the verge of throttling one of the people at work. As well as the usual barrage of information about how he'd have to take lots of work home with him (because he's too busy in the office TALKING ALL THE TIME to actually get it done,) and how the sun shines out of his daughters' arses (fatherly pride is one thing, but with the amount of detail we get I'm dreading the day we hear about his eldest's first smear test,) today we also got a running DVD commentary on everything he was doing. And not the good kind of DVD commentary where you find out interesting stuff - I mean the kind where someone walks into a room and the director says "and now he's walking into the room..." The man can talk for so long without pausing for oxygen, he must breathe through his arse. By the end of the day when I was trying to show someone how to do some of my work while I'm away (which he was already struggling with) only to get interrupted mid-sentence, every sentence with some sarky comment about how it didn't really need doing anyway, I was on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
...And relax. Which I now can, 'cause I don't have to put up with any of that again until Monday. Frankly, I expected a bit more reaction from Vanessa to the fact that she'll have to get through two days at work without me - howling, hair-pulling, loss of bowel control, that's about the acceptable minimum, but there was none of that. Maybe she was putting a brave face on it.
In the meantime I've got my mum's wedding tomorrow, at which I'll get to see my sister, who finally escaped from all the red tape and came back from Greece last Sunday. A couple of people have said I must be a bit weirded out by having to go to my own mum's wedding, but to be honest it's barely crossed my mind. Maybe it's because they've been together so long they might as well be married already; or maybe it's because my mum herself has been so blasé about it so far that it's hard for anyone else to get too excitable.