Pauline's parents are in the middle of splitting up after 30 years of marriage and Pauline thought it a good idea to invite me, her Mom, Mary, and two of Pauline's (other?) closest friends around for dinner, Concepta and Helen.
Pauline, Pauline, Pauline... If only I knew at the time that I'd spent two hours in hell with a half cooked potato in front of me I'd've stayed at home and watched Desperate Housewives. I hate Desperate Housewives.
'The ice-cream's melting. Like something you're father would do, forget to pick up the ice-cream'
'I know, what a cunt'.
Well, wasn't that a nice. I'd didn't quite know or care if Pauline's Dad had ever forgotten ice-cream or in some way screwed her life over with ice-cream but I knew that I was going to have to nod. Soon.
'Ah, well, yes...'
Everything. Anything. Her mom managed to bring it back to the inadequacies of the husband, sorry, the adulterer, and I'd have to nod, again, and soon.
'Wine, anyone? asks Pauline. The mother didn't drink. Helen was a teetotaler and Concepta was on a diet.
Concepta, bless her buck teeth, tried her best to hold her own in the conversation adding:
'My sister has just found out that she's pregnant - and that's she seven months gone!' Thanks for that Concepta. Useless AND weird. Scoring on all fronts, are we?
'Well', Mary started, 'I remember when I was pregnant with Pauline. Ah, Jesus, I was nearly killed with the morning sickness. Isn't it great that she missed the morning sickness? It is, ya. I wasn't so bad with Martin when I had him but Pauline, Jesus, was I nearly dead.
I choke on overovened rice (believe!). I knew two crucial facts at that point: Pauline and Martin have been adopted since birth and I only had half a bottle left of white. Shit one, indeed. Shit one.
I swallowed. She went on, of course.
'Will I ever find anyone again?'.
'Of course you will. Sure, my Dad has found someone and is going out with her for two years now and well all accept her and...' Concepta said as I now started on the red. I hate red.
'What does your mother think?' said Mary.
'She's dead'. Silence.
'Since when?'.
'Three years'.
'How?'.
'Cancer'.
'Where?'
'Brest'.
Oh. Fucking. Hell.
'Chemo?'.
'No'.
'Ah'.
'Ah'.
God, if you're there... 'Wine, anyone? asks Pauline. I'd suck it through a straw right now.
'And sure, Helen, you're having the sex now anymore now sure. How's that working out for you?' Mary went on. Helen reddened. I was trying to remember the 'Our Father'.
'Fine now, just, ya know, trying to get myself back to myself again sure'.
'And you don't drink now either?'
'No'.
'Then, what do you do?
'Aromatherapy'.
'Ah'.
'Ah'.
...agus ná lig sinn i gcathú...
'And you, Jim? Boyfriend?'
'No?' I sip.
'Just broke up with someone then?'
'No. No. Just Jim'. I'm out, I've no more red left.
'Parents?'
'Yes'.
'Together?'
I presumed at this point that soda water gave her gas and sporadic monosyllabicism. Poor bitch.
'Yes. Thirty five, no, thirty seven years now but, sure, ya know yourself, good years and bad years now' scrathching the back of my ear for inspiration.
'Well, I was thirty years married. Just. You. Wait!'.
I hate my ear right now.
It went on. And on. And on. I understand that Mary needed to vent. I understand that Helen needs to find herself. I understand that Aishling's sister's dim. I realise that Pauline didn't provide enough wine for me or herself. I'm not that shade of gay who nods and hates people when other people hate them. I'm not that shade of guy who handles awkward 'oops, isn't she adopted?' situations well. I'm a gay man, not Bella.
Her Mom cleaned up. She excused herself and said that we redeemed her last thirty years.
Success. [hiccup]
