Silver Weekend

Dear Diary,

So, today is Monday. And it finds me at the end of a very long and knackering weekend. I may not have mentioned, but yesterday was the official party for Mum's and Dad's Silver Wedding Anniversary. True to form, they didn't want to do "anything big" (nah..... 25 years of marriage, nothing to celebrate, really, is it? Bloody hell.) - but we still ended up spending WEEKS preparing, buying food, storing champagne...... Mum (in house-proud overdrive) even went a step further and redecorated the bathroom floor. See, that I don't get. These are their FRIENDS coming round for ONE afternoon - they KNOW what the bathroom looks like, they're not going to judge you! Not to mention I've heard enough inter-parental quarrels about money to wonder how this was afforded...... Whatever, anyway, I guess Mum knows best.

The days leading up to this blessed event were pretty hellish - Mum yelling all the time, jobs that needed doing, Dad getting frustrated with it all (me too, to be honest), etc.... etc.... Not to mention I got cystitis, which absolutely KILLED. Bloody typical. After a little online research, I discovered it was a condition known as "Honeymoon Cystitis" (there are different types, apparently) - which one can sometimes get as a result of "increased sexual activity." Well, I'd rather get that than an STD. So I have to abstain from sex and drink shit-loads of Cranberry juice for a while - and take these sachets dissolved in water that taste VILE and nearly make me throw up.

Deaf Class was a welcome escape on THURSDAY, I felt myself relax and smile at being able to sit next to Joe and let our legs secretly brush when people were looking the other way. We learnt "descriptive" words this week - the teacher praised how well he was able to sign the word "curvy." Hmmmm, I wonder why? Afterwards I was too fed-up to go home straight away, (not to mention starving, as I'd forgone tea to dye my hair) so we went for a curry again. He was remarkably understanding about the cystitis - which I'd told him about earlier - and even laughed about it, saying he'd had a look online after I told him and found the same article about "Honeymoon" Cystitis - and that it was all his fault. Well, quite.

FRIDAY was nowt special. Dossed around all day, emailing off the usual flurry of over-enthusiastic job applications. The evening was fun, though - despite me being sent off with Mum's ringing threats that Grandmas was coming over tomorrow and I had to be home by 10 oclock AT THE LATEST OR ELSE, etc... etc... Having chucked an overnight bag in the boot, I introduced Joe to the magical experience of TGI Fridays, which he'd never been to before. Needless to say, he loved it (I'm sure the fact that I was wearing the Boob Monster had nothing to do with it.....). It's so much better now they've toned down on the hyperactiveness and pseudo-Americanism. Had 3 AMAZING courses and stared around at the exciting hubbub of birthday songs left right and centre, a stag do, and the general happiness that seemed to swirl like oxygen in places like that.

Had a good long talk about Mum and how crazy the execution of the party was driving us all. I will say this - he sure knows how to listen. And he even said I wasn't boring him! OK, I know no-one ever REALLY admites when you're boring them, but still...... damn.
Went back to his after another trip to Tesco for the accquisition of cranberry juice and Newky Brown Ale (I didn't dare touch any alcohol in my cystitic state) - but my heart wasn't really in it. Actually, correction - my HEART was in it, but my body wasn't. Between the permanently painful bladder and the constant hayfeverific sneezing, sniffling and coughing, I was an absolute wreck. Managed to forget it slightly as we settled down in front of the hilarious "Scary Movie" but remained a wincing groaning snuffling wheezing wreck for the whole evening. Grrrr..... How the hell does he put up with me??

Still, it wasn't a completely wasted night - I felt fully justified in asking for a relaxing massage..... he was out the door and off to Tesco before I even got the words out. Lay down in front of "Family Guy" on BBC3, laughing my arse off, until he returned with a bottle of Baby oil. Fun times!

Saturday morning was pretty hellish - woke up at 6am with my nose on fire and my eyes streaming. Surely enough my moaning and flopping woke Joe, who leaped up to shut the window (damn candle smoke, ruining everything!) before trying to calm my whining bitching self down. Why he didn't just put a sleeper-hold on me, I'll never know. Anyway, got a bit more sleep before being woken at 9, because he knew I'd have trouble getting up. See, this is what I need - someone to help get my sorry arse out of bed in the mornings! Anyway, after a whole lot of griping and trying to get dressed without physically moving out of the bed, I was awoken somewhat with the promise of a Subway breakfast. It was like a military operation: "We have T-minus-10 minutes to sit down and eat this breakfast...... Right, we have T-minus-2 minutes to get me home!" etc....

Well, he got me home on time, somewhat bleary-eyed, despite Mum making me promise I "wouldn't have a late night" or "come home exhausted." Hmmm, subtle! I think it's fairly obvious by now what I'm up to, but we still talk in code and play the game. She knows, and I know she knows. It's just better to keep up the decency and pretend otherwise. Before Grandma arrived, we did have "The Talk," though. Or a slightly stunted version of it. Observe:

"Kat, you will use protection, won't you?"
(*vociferously*) "Of course! Goes without saying."
"Good girl. Right, come help me clean the oven." (*wanders off*)

And that was it. Slightly unfair though, that the one time I DIDN'T have sex was the time I came home knackered from an allergy-related awakening. If I'm going to be exhausted and sleep-deprived, I want it to be for a good reason, dammit!

Anyway, Grandma arrived, and the day was fun. We pretty much spent the whole day preparing and cleaning the house (for the 8th time) and getting food ready for the dinner party we had on Saturday night (which, incidentally, was AMAZING and something of a seafood-fest). Mum said I was very welcome to invite Joe to the party on Sunday - which I had abstained from doing, as I thought he wouldn't want to "meet the parents" quite so soon. Apparently he didn't mind.

Alors, SUNDAY rolled around, complete with the usual pre-event occurances in the O'Donnell household - Grandma criticising my hair, last-minute inter-parental bickering, and masses of hoovering and food laying-out. 3 oclock came, the guests started arriving, and from then on, we were all in "host" mode. I have to say, I do kind of like "Host" mode - not matter how rubbish you feel or whatever illnesses (or allergies) you have, it all vanishes when you open the door with a smile on your face, offering a drink. Or maybe it was because I took about 3 times the normal dose of Loratidine to protect myself when in the garden - and spent pretty much all day medicated up to the eyeballs. Which probably explains why I didn't get drunk, despite having about 7 glasses of Rose' and 3 glasses of champagne. Intriguing!

Joe eventually showed up - looking like a Resevoir Dog, which was my fault. Turns out I'd severely misjudged the word "formal" - everyone else was in shorts and shirts. Ooops. He seemed incredibly nervous (understandably) but Mum and Dad warmed to him straight away - which I'm sure had NOTHING to do with the bottle of wine and bunch of flowers he came bearing! He even brought me a bunch of bright pink roses as a present "for getting better." Awwww! The old ones he gave me died about a week ago, but I risked waking up hayfeverish every morning to keep them in my room - loathe as I was to throw away the first flowers a guy's ever brought me.

Anyhow, he got introduced to people, (looking massively relieved to see Auntie and Dan again) and was generally all lovely and well-behaved. I kept throwing him anguished "Aaaaaargh, sorry to put you through this!" looks, especially when Grandma sat down right next to him and started chatting, but he seemed fine. Mum, typically, cooked almost ALL the food and desserts but had absolutely none herself, as she was playing the hostess all evening. I spent all afternoon and evening bobbing in and outdoors, sneezing my head off, watching as the parents got steadily more drunk.

Mum and Dad eventually got up to do their speech. I noticed (as predicted) that Mum said absolutely nothing about their marriage or any funny anecdotes, instead choosing to simply thank everyone for coming to the party. Although I did win a bet with Joe that the words "Here's to the next 25" would be spoken. Saw that one coming a MILE off! Dad didn't even get to say anything. Hmph.
Anyway, the evening wore on. The lovely playlist I'd spent all day creating specially for the adults (full of 60's, 70's, and general "their generation" music) was dismissed for Dad's Ipod - which, rather ironically, contained pretty much every song that hadn't yet been played on my playlist yet. Typical. Forget "Golden Brown" and "My Little Runaway," they wanted to dance to the likes of "Can't touch this" and the full, glorious, 15 minute-long version of "Rapper's Delight." Good times!

Joe and I eventually stole off to the lounge, confident that nobody would mind us nabbing a few moments. We colonized the sofa with "Red Dwarf" on in the background (as a cover story) and spent about half an hour kissing - which was particularly hilarious as he was desperately trying to practise his "self-control" (especially as he was in his "work" trousers - ie: tight). Oh and we finally had the "Proper" talk. Well, when I say that, I mean I, buoyed up by alcohol felt the need to ask the oh-so-articulate; "What's going on with us then? Are we together? Just seeing each other?" etc.... I wanted to know where I stood, which is reasonable enough, surely? But the good news is - I got the answer I was looking for. And so, for the first time in a year and a bit, with a guy she actually likes, Kat is in a relationship!!

After everyone had gone, Mum was catastrophically pissed from drinking on an empty stomach (something she spent all my uni years warning me against - irony is SWEEET) and nibbled at the remains of the buffet, before passing out on the sofa. So it was up to Muggins here to stay up till HALF 2 cleaning up. Strangely, I didn't mind, it was rather fun. I nabbed some leftovers, listened to the rest of my "Anniversary Party" playlist and eventually got the back room and kitchen spick and span, with a clean tablecloth and 2 bunches of flowers swooning in vases. With a glowing sense of pride, I returned to the lounge to force Mum to drink half a pint of water before dragging her arse up the stairs and putting her to bed. Which she promptly leapt out of to be sick. Oh dear.....

So yeah - Grandma left today (thankfully knowing nothing of Mum's wild ways), both her and Mum full of praise for my secret cleaning duties. Mum apologised like crazy for her behaviour and hoped she didn't embarrass me - which she didn't, so it was OK.
And thus ends another legendary O'Donnell celebration. Or "commiseration" as Mum so frequently joked last night. She should be careful, really, say something like that often enough and people might start thinking you're telling the truth.....

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Current Mood: exhausted from cleaning
Current Music: "Golden Brown" - The Stranglers