In the bosom of the family

Item – The Three-Nighter Posh Do Which Required A New Frock went pretty well. My mother was hosting it (my mother Does Events as a job), and H and I were soon, variously, folding 250 napkins in an ornamental manner, babysitting my little niece Minx, hunting down hammers, arranging flowers, reducing the heating system to order by sheer power of masculinity, writing leaflets, selling raffle-tickets, getting toffs drunk so they’ll buy more raffle tickets, being polite to hordes of drunk toffs, dragging my sisters out of the festering pit of their work-room to feed and pyjama Minx, envying the living crap out of my sisters because they both live at home and get a work-room to be art students in into the bargain while I have to do all my own laundry and get up at 7am every morning (you know, the usual), stacking and unstacking chairs, moving tables, and so on and so on until the wee small hours, powered almost entirely on coffee and red wine.

Item – Many aunts were there, and clearly my mother has been TALKING, because I had several versions of the ‘what’s up with May’s lady-parts?’ conversation. But this was fine, as the assvice was polite and respectful (though, clearly, inevitable and lunatic (I mean, have you tried electromagnetic aura therapy? I don’t even know what the hell that is), and I got a great deal of gentle sympathy from them all. I think I am officially the family Victim and Suffering Angel now. Which feels decidedly unsettling.

Item – I also became the unwilling recipient of information about various cousins’ menstrual disorders. No, said cousins were not present, and I bet you sweet green dollars they gave absolutely no permission whatsoever for their reproductive organs to be discussed en famille. As I gave no permission for mine to be discussed. Heigh ho. This is why I am now honest and open about the Woe-Bollocky-Dreariness – so that if the contents of my uterus are to be dinner-party conversation, then at least said conversation should be accurate and not come back to bite me in the arse, as it were, at unexpected moments.

Item – While babysitting, I taught Minx to knit. She, little genius, picked it up right away, and soon presented me with her very first effort, a tiny four-by-one-inch strip, as a bracelet. I wore it all Saturday afternoon, all Sunday, and am still wearing it now. I am a glowingly proud Auntie.

Item – It is day 17 of this cycle, and I have been showing signs of the Awakening of the Gonad, possibly kicked into action by the Adorableness of the Niece.

Item – H needed to leave for another business trip on Sunday afternoon, and he won’t be back until Wednesday night. Given the above item, oops.

Item – Friday night H and I went to bed at 2 am, having spent hours and hours unpicking flower arrangements and transferring the fainting tulips to a bucket of ice-cold water (we’d have to put them all back again the next day), both drunk as Australian philosophers, and action was there none.

Item – Saturday, we decided we needed a plan, or we’d never get any action at all and May would be Impossible To Live With for the rest of the cycle. As soon as all the toffs and family were thoroughly occupied with dessert and there were no more messages to carry or matches to find, H and I made our excuses (separately, minutes apart, like well-trained spies) and scurried back to our room, where we fell upon each other like wolverines. And then we put our clothes back on, and I brushed my seriously disarranged hair, and we reappeared in time for coffee and chair-stacking. So when we went to bed at 2 am drunk as etc. that night, we went smugly.

Item – It’s a very cheering memory, now that I’m home again all on my own, eating cheese on toast and waiting for the washing machine to finish the spin cycle. The glamour.

Item – Standard cynical disclaimer – I bet I don’t ovulate until 2011 now.

Item – It’s Mothers’ Day in Britain. I gave my mother a book, and she told me I was the only one of her children who remembered things like Mother’s Day. I smiled, awkwardly, and did not say ‘that’s because I’m the only one of your children who spends all 24 hours of it burning with sorrow, regret, envy, resentment and misery.’

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11 responses to “In the bosom of the family

  • a

    Nothing like discussing the state of your insides with others to make you feel really comfortable and happy!

    But, at least you got some action…

  • manapan

    Ugh, Mother’s Day. ((hugs))

    I wish my nieces were calm enough (and trustworthy enough with sharp objects) for me to teach them to knit. Also, a four-inch strip for a bracelet? You must be tiny!

    • May

      The four-inch strip does has several inches of trailing yarn hanging off each end for tying-things-to-aunts purposes… I’m not tiny at all!

  • Ben Warsop

    That all sounds … less bad than on previous occasions. And nice naughty erotic memory to warm the cockles in times to come.

    B

  • Valery

    Mother’s Day already? I think over here it is not for another 2 months… (and last year I spent it in Egypt, the perfect place for the Nile)
    Impressed by your escape-while-dessert plan!
    Maybe I should start on a plan too, rather than mope and generally get stuck in the impossible-to-live-with stage.
    thanks, and good luck hanging on till Wednesday.

  • Heather

    How sneaky and wonderful it sounds to meet your lover for a quick romp!!! So newly-wedish of you guys! (Yes, I made that word up.) I need some of that in my marriage.

    It is a love/hate thing to have lady bits discussed with the entire family…well, never love – but more like ok. Definitely some hate though.

  • twangy

    A niece who knits bracelets? So sweet! And clever!

    Sounds like you handled all with great aplomb. So strange, those family labels, aren’t they? Weren’t you The Sensible, Strong One, before?

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    My God, love, that’s a fuck-load of ornamental napkin-folding!
    I make either sydney opera house-type flowers or tudor rose thingies, and 14 is my absolute frozen limit.

  • Womb for Improvement

    Did you consider using the napkins to fashion anatomically correct origami versions of your uterus and ovaries for the benefit of your aunts? No? Missed opportunity that.

    • May

      *Snerk*

      My reproductive equipment is so lop-sided, I could have made a napkin swan and left it at that.

      • Solnushka

        Isn’t there that website that has inappropriate soft toys/ handbaged/ etc? Ben will know which one. I demand you suggest some to your Mother as party favours for next time. Plus, perhaps they do napkins.

        It all sounds quite distracting in the main. Good.

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