Some
people never tire of prying into your private life. I refer to them as 'nosy
b@stards'. Not a blindingly original title, but fit-for-purpose. Don't get me
wrong. I am fairly liberal with relatively intimate details with those close to
me (sometimes a little too liberal after a refreshing beverage or two) but this
particular brand of individual generally has no business making your business
their business, if you get my drift. The Aunt you see once a year and don’t
particularly like; that individual at work with too much time on their hands
(who often inspires the question 'what do they actually do…?’); the
friend of a friend, of a friend, of a friend whose name you've forgotten. Them.
When
you're single they're obsessed with you 'meeting someone special', and
specialise in patronising pseudo-excited grins and reassurances you neither
need nor want. I think we should start issuing medals / small trophies to
honour unattached comrades who refrain from punching these types in the tit
(stereotyping, I know, but this behaviour does tend towards the female of the
species). No, violence is not the answer, but 'Feck off you interfering old
<insert expletive of choice>' is a possibility. Best to nip them in the
bud because I have bad news for you single people; It does not stop when you
meet someone you're willing to share the remote, deserts and your naked self
with. They are never satisfied.
They
simply move on, scarcely pausing to draw breath, to 'when are you getting
engaged…?' (I was going out with my now husband three months when the questions
started. Three months!) And if you do decide to enter the circus-world of
insanity that is The Wedding, you open yourself up to some of the dullest
conversations known to man. Flautists, flowers and favours my arse. These
snoopy types are, of course, in their element. And will expect an invite.
(Stand firm! Do not give in!) Then, before you've even cut the ridiculously
overpriced cake*, the next line of questioning begins.
'Any
news…?' They ask expectantly, dancing around the subject with all the subtlety
of a baby elephant, staring at your belly, trying to decide if it's full of
baby or biscuits.
It's
biscuits, I assure you. Now feck off.
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*Ridiculously overpriced, unless you have a talented mother like
mine, who made our cake and my dress.
She rocks.
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