When anyone asks me to do something fairly far off in the distance that I don't really want to make a decision about just yet, I invoke a stock answer. For example, Wednesday afternoon, Amy said to me 'Hey lets all go to see Destiny's Child at Lansdowne Road next June!' Er, no, I thought. This would need careful manipulation to avoid.
'June, eh? Ah, who knows where I'll be by summer, I could be married by then! Well, actually, no, I probably would want a summer wedding so I would probably still be engaged next summer but-' And the impetus to give an actual realistic answer was gone as I began to detail all my imaginary wedding plans. This ploy also worked with my mother earlier today.
'How about,' she said 'We go to Prague for your birthday in March!' She's been doing this for ages, 'giving' me a holiday for my birthday and bringing herself along with me. Now, I don't know much about anything (I had to run off and look up Prague in the atlas to see where it actually is) but I do know where the boys went for their holidays back in September. Prague. From what I can make out from what they have told me, and I may be wrong in this, Prague is built entirely from breasts and lager. And policemen just itching to arrest young Irishmen for frivolous non-crimes such as sharing chips with prostitutes and climbing on to the back of a large statue of a cow singing rebel songs. [Note: The boys were singing rebel songs, not the cow. That would be weird.] I could not holiday in such a place! I could not gallivant freely around a city of such dictatorial type! Nay, I say to Prague!
'I may be married by March, mum' I answered coyly and dropped my eyes. Mum looked at me suspiciously and said nothing. This little gem is not working however to avoid answering the irritating refrain of 'what are you doing for New Year's?' which I have been hearing since Stephen's Day. Answering 'I may be married by then' to a question about your occupation for the evening is borderline. In all fairness though, I might be. It's only 3 o'clock. Who knows what could happen by dinner?
I am writing this with my sister and her friend pacing around the computer. Sally keeps roaring 'Come the fuck on!' at me because she is waiting to use the computer for her college homework. The friend is waiting to show her how to use the computer.
'I would not' her friend just said 'like to get an email from Lucy! Look how much she writes!'
'It's not an email' said my sister boredly. 'It's her blog.'
'What's a blog?' questioned the friend.
'I haven't a fucking clue. It's absolute crap. I hate it.' She added meanly. Then started kicking my chair from behind.
I really should go now. I can't take this much abuse. And I have a husband to find before dark.