Saturday, May 19, 2007
last sunday herself and my boy were invited to a house-warming party. (himself was also invited but had important football-watching to do. this was because it was the semi-half-quarter-final of the premier-fa-carling-cup. himself seems to feel that if he does not watch every single football match being played anywhere in the world he is letting the side down. )
the house-warming was going to be a bbq. needless to say, when the day dawned the peeps had nothing in the house that could be barbecued. himself managed to locate some salmon. the other snag was that it was raining in what can only be described as a biblical manner. i looked on this as a good sign. people trying to keep dry are less likely to be watching their food, thereby allowing the odd nifty lunge by my goodself. however, it rapidly became clear that i was not invited to the barbecue. i had to hear about all the fun later, after an interminable afternoon of watching balls rolling around the telly screen. watching football is bad for my nerves. i want to grab the ball but i know from bitter experience that i will only bang my nose on the glass and, rather than sympathy, will be shouted at for obscuring the pitch just as a goal was scored.
it appears the party was good fun. on the way, my boy asked whose party it was. "its nic who used to work in my office, and her partner sharon. they have bought a house and this is a house-warming." she went on to explain that this did not mean the heating would be cranked up and everyone would be sweating but that 'house-warming' was just a saying. beefburger people need that sort of thing explained.
"so they are both women?" he asked. "yes" said herself. "they have been trying to buy a house for ages but previous ones kept falling through." she had to explain that this did not mean houses disappearing into the earth but that 'falling through' was another saying.
"so they are lesbians?" asked my boy. "yes, they are." said herself, and, remembering how forthright my boy can be, went on to remind him that it might be a little bit inappropriate to ask them questions about the finer points of 'what-lesbians-do-in-bed'. my boy has reached the age where his questions often relate to what happens in the bed department of various sorts of people. herself regularly finds herself explaining things like gender dysmorphia, erogenous zones and all sorts of other stuff, usually followed by "probably best to keep off this subject at school as some of the kids might not know this kind of stuff yet..."
in the animal kingdom we don't have categories like gay or straight. we take the view that you should get love where you can find it. it is not at all uncommon to see cows enjoying a lesbian frolic in a field and on more than one occasion i have found myself astride a dapper chap. but anyway, i digress.
when herself and my boy arrived at the party it was still raining. but soon it stopped. the hosts decided to chance lighting the barbecue. herself went outside to watch this momentous event. it became clear that it would be rather more momentous than planned as it was still in the box. regular readers will know that herself loves putting things together. her success rating in this is in inverse proportion to the number in the instructions at which she starts. she has a fondness for the number 8 and often embarks on assembly here, feeling that the earlier stages have no merit.
spanners were found and the guests got to work on assembling the barbecue. my boy came rushing out. "mummy," he said, in his usual stage whisper that can be heard across the road, "some lesbians are swearing and saying they are going to take off their clothes!" "since when did swearing bother you?" asked herself. (both my boy and himself have a fine repertoire of expletives) "and once you have seen me wandering around the house in the buff nothing could be half so scary. don't worry - i expect they are just hot."
conversation about the origins of the barbecue was going on. "i got it at argos" said the host. "ikea sell good ones," said one of the guests. "i hate ikea - its way too crowded!" said the host. "you're not a proper lesbian if you don't like ikea!" shrieked the guest. my boy rolled up in hysterical laughter. "that's blog-fodder!" said herself, "you will be famous!" (and sure enough - here it is in my blog.)
the next day my boy came home from school and as usual herself asked him about his day. "it was good," he said, "i told miss day about my weekend but she didn't believe me." "what do you mean?" asked herself. "well, when i told her i went to a party with swearing lesbians taking their clothes off she said, in a very patronising voice, 'now tell me, owen, is this what really happened or is this one of your stories?' "
the peeps have resigned themselves to more comments in the home/school book...