Well the thing is that it's happening, and it's happening tomorrow. And, when I told you in the aforementioned point number 8 that I was shitting large bricks, I was pretty much misunderexaggerating. I reckon I'm a calm sort of chap, in possession of a set of feathers that don't often get ruffled, but this has ruffled the RD feathers.
You see C won't be around, it will just be me and her 'rents in RD Towers and I'm going to be doing my utmost to impress them. There was I, not too long ago, telling you about K's rather successful attempts to impress me with that boy Z, with his tales of drumming and music, and now here I am on the other end of the fish.
The Father, we'll call him Dr T, is a rather well known Colombo gynaecologist. I've got another post in the pipeline in which I'll tell you more about that but my point here is that I can't really strive to impress him with tales of my "expertise" in his choice of profession. For starters I even had to spell check the word "gynaecologist", or actually "gynocologist" as I'd written it. Then what would we discuss? If he's seen any good hoo hoos lately, or what?
It's not like drumming either. I don't envisage him and me bonding over tales of my amateur gynaecology, particularly when it concerns his daughter. There'll be no chat about what sort of sticks we use, who our influences are, that sort of thing. Don't get me wrong, we've met many a time and chewed the curry flavoured cud quite happily, but this is different.
C has kindly emailed me a long shopping list of food to buy for them and this is going to be particularly useful. The mother, we'll call her Mother T, is a vegetarian and not even a proper one who eats fish and prawns and most meat. No, she's one of those weird extreme ones who don't touch anything that has lived.
If not for that I'd have been quietly confident in my ability to impress them with a bit of rice and c, but my culinary skill with vegetables is on a par with the average woman's ability to be totally crap at multi tasking. RD Towers will be bursting at the seams with microwave vegetable lasagnes and all manner of things on the list, lentils and whatnot.
I've had my car cleaned throughly by some local East Europeans and am hoping that might look good on me. I've organised that my parents are going to have them for dinner on Friday night and I reckon that will be successful. Four oldish Sri Lankan people getting together and bitching about their kids is always a recipe for an enjoyable evening.
The scariest thing?
Only a few hours after they arrive they'll
The only variable I'm confident in is Mother T. She's a sound old bird in the best traditions and I know her and the girls will be fine. God alone knows what will happen with A and K and the good Dr T.
Wish me well please. I have a feeling I'll need it.