Today is the momentous day.
My mum is in London for the weekend. She is to meet my girlfriend, Lis, for the first time.
I am scared. Me and Lis have been going out for pretty much one year, one month, and fourteen days (approx). My mother has been my mother for 24 years, one month and 2 days.
On paper they should like each other, we should have a lovely time, they will exchange embarrassing stories and I will escape with my life…if it goes well.
The first half of this day of terror was spent buying new eyes and feet for myself. The eyes are in the shape of lenses for my glasses, my prescription had deteriorated since I last got glasses in the year 200 In fact, I was nearly blind. Now as if Jesus himself has touched me (not like Michael Jackson). Suddenly I remember that as things get further away they shouldn’t just get blurry, they stay crisp but smaller. It’s staggering. In fact, when I leave the opticians my brain nearly imploded with an information overload due to all the things I could see. I had a headache and had to sit down.
The feet were new trainers, just in time; my golas had just had to resort to gaffer tape to keep them together (I say they did, it was me that put the gaffer on, if they were clever enough to do that themselves then they’d probably be too clever to fall apart, or find lie satisfying as my trainer.)
The evening approached. We were to meet Lis outside the delights of Leicester Square tube station on a Saturday night.
She’s not there; she’s done a runner. Oh god, a year of relationship gone in a flash, maybe she’s run off to Peru. Oh, no, there she is.
I do the introductions and sweep us straight into my planned evening activities…to go and see a play, we can spend the evening in a darkened room not talking. Genius.
The play is “Stones in His Pockets†and a very enjoyable two and a half hours it was. There was chat though – and they seemed to get on fine.
We went back to mine, had dinner (at midnight) and I got the nod of approval from each.
My life can carry on