It’s Humphrey Big Bear’s 29th birthday today and also the day my parental units get back from their tri-annual tripette to their little sun trap, both of which fill me with dread in equal measure. The dread about Humph’s birthday is that he is a year off being 30 which means that I am edging ever closer to the big 3-0 and along with that comes the usual head noise of ‘I’m single, in a job I hate, no boyfriend, I still rent and I have an arse the size of a Mack truck’.
The parental grief is about the fact that I’ve not seen them since about a week ish post op when I decided to go it alone and fly the nest once more. I know I’ve lost weight since then but I am absolutely crapping my gigantic-grannified-Bridget Jones got nuttin’ on me-applecatcher-big butt knickers that they’ll not see a difference. My parental units are very upfront and they’re a great tag team, possibly best since the winning combination of ‘Hit Man’ and ‘Anvil’ aka The Hart Foundation. One takes the ‘honesty is the best policy’ stance and th other becomes the stoical, silent type and expresses far more with a look or a sigh. The alternative to the torture of my parents telling me the truth is them sugar coating it which is a gazillion times worse as they’re pretty rubbish at it. I have to pretend they are brilliant actors and accept their platitudes with a smile on my face.
They’ve not set a date as yet to have the big post op check up but I’m really hoping it’s when I’m off the plateau as I think the combination of plateau + platitudes = Long Tall Ally running to the blender with a multipack of Mars Bars!