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Nov. 7th, 2008 05:56 pmNothing of interest.
The flat is two weeks from completion. SWMBO has booked, somewhat tentatively, an hotel for the wedding somewhere in Cambridgeshire.
Oh, the joy.
It's the meeting of families that's always so wonderful to consider. The mother's fondest memory of one at an age not yet breeched, in all its embarrassing detail. Ah, sweet. (The taste of bile rises in my gorge - funny that, really.) If one could but abolish the notion of family, think how such horrors could be avoided. Alas, I fear the cultural notion of the family is with us and shall remain, but I live in hope. The tyranny of the mother is a peculiar thing, God wot. Because of the personal investment in the process of gestation they have lien on us ever after. Evidently I shall have to start up a party in favour of artificial uteruses, forever freeing us from the yoke of the mother, and at the same time liberating the poor young women who have to go through nine months of having something slightly alien growing inside them: which, though natural, can still be a bit of a bore, especially if it stops them drinking and smoking and playing bingo.
....but who can fathom the young?
Nevertheless, to return to my original point, her parents will have to meet my mother.
My cup doth overflow.
The flat is two weeks from completion. SWMBO has booked, somewhat tentatively, an hotel for the wedding somewhere in Cambridgeshire.
Oh, the joy.
It's the meeting of families that's always so wonderful to consider. The mother's fondest memory of one at an age not yet breeched, in all its embarrassing detail. Ah, sweet. (The taste of bile rises in my gorge - funny that, really.) If one could but abolish the notion of family, think how such horrors could be avoided. Alas, I fear the cultural notion of the family is with us and shall remain, but I live in hope. The tyranny of the mother is a peculiar thing, God wot. Because of the personal investment in the process of gestation they have lien on us ever after. Evidently I shall have to start up a party in favour of artificial uteruses, forever freeing us from the yoke of the mother, and at the same time liberating the poor young women who have to go through nine months of having something slightly alien growing inside them: which, though natural, can still be a bit of a bore, especially if it stops them drinking and smoking and playing bingo.
....but who can fathom the young?
Nevertheless, to return to my original point, her parents will have to meet my mother.
My cup doth overflow.
