Slap Me and Call Me Sally!

The chipper thing has worn off. It's a bit early in the day to be bitchy innit? But I can't help it. I have put myself in a compromising situation. I went to lunch with an old friend from high school. Ok, here's where I groan and bang my head repeatedly into a wall for saying yes to the bloody lunch date. Why do I always insist on doing these silly, masochistic things to myself?

The friend, let's call her Sally is a typical Smug Married. You cannot find anyone smugger than her. She is a total soccer mom, two children, both snivelling little brats if you ask me. I've seen them in action, and they are the kind of offspring you never want to have. And S and beloved husband give in to their every whim and fancy. In fact, they didn't even bat an eyelid when one of the demonic Satan spawn kicked me in plain view of everyone in the restaurant.

I wanted to give it a good spanking. After all, spare the rod and spoil the child you know.

But I digress, let me tell you how a charity lunch with S- I thought I was freeing her from her wifely/motherly duties and wanted to indulge in some afternoon cocktails- has landed me in a truly awful place.

1. She brought the brats and husband, so lunch was peppered with screaming, dropping of cutlery, physical abuse TOWARD ME! flustered waitress when the said offspring tried to throw the rolls at the next table, and constant chattering on S' part about the sweet 'ickle Satan spawn, and her stupid husbands pompous comments about how I'm running into my expiry date while looking at me in a more than friendly fashion no doubt imagining us cavorting in bed somewhere (I have history with S' lesser half, but that's another story)

2. I know now everything about baby basics and how to get your kids into Elite Playschool. God, there is such a thing? And something called KUMON, which to me just reminds me of Bacteria. And I can see why, the boy spawn had cream sauce all over his dungarees.

Did you know Darren can say his ABC?
Spell your name Darren!
Good boy!
No, no, no! Don't throw the bread!
Give me your fork, give me your fork, give me your fork.
No, honey.... Auntie Jez doesn't want to kill you! She's just joking silly!

(Have deduced that part of the reason people have children is to undoubtedly parade these midgets to the rest of us and take credit for whatever they may later go on to do.)


3. I cracked. I tried really hard, but I cracked. On the third time the question, "Are you seeing someone?" cropped up, I choked on my penne and blurted rather softly, "Yes."
So now, I have to bring someone to some party she's hosting this weekend! Why? Why do I always get myself into these messes.

I could have invited Ong, but I think if I even ask Karen might mutilate me. I thought of calling the Ex, but I know if I do I will quite possibly regret it. I am so fucked. Everytime I think about showing up with no one, I get all sweaty. I need to find someone before Saturday evening at the latest!

I've spent all this time denying vehemently that being single doesn't bother me, and it's true, it doesn't. Except on occasions such as this. Why do people, Smug Married and Smug Shagging Couples always forget how uncomfortable it is to be in a situation where people are always prodding you about your love life? Do your white knuckles gripped dramatically on your chair, repeated nostril flaring not hint to them some semblance of where the conversation should go instead?

Ah, the folly of Marriage and Commitment, where people so often forget Singledom and Singletons.

And if one more person gives me that "Poor you" look with that usual "Ah, don't worry! You've still got a few more years to trap a man!" Insert hearty sufffocating laugh and pat pat pat on the back,



I'll send their kids to public school!


Hah! And we'll see who's the Poor You then! Ha ha ha!