New Years Resolution :I will not spend Christmas 2017 in despair at my parents house trying to sneak alcohol into my diet coke when my family aren’t looking just to cope with the conversations about religion and politics. Someone once said polite conversation should avoid, sex politics and religion my parents obviously didn’t get the memo.
Seriously, you don’t believe me? I can play a game I like to call 6 degrees of spiritual separation. How quickly can my parents turn any conversation or situation into a statement about God.
Case and point was this year. Following a stressful arrival for the annual family Christmas, I was lagging behind with both presents and the agree food contributions. My mother is gluten intolerant and every year my parents insist on having a Christmas special- a guest student from some far flung country who wants to spend an English Christmas with us. This year he was vegetarian, so I was making gluten free sausage rolls, meat one and also vegetarian ones.
I have nothing against my parents annual charitable deed. Except, I am not religious (the students always are so I have to constantly sit through conversations about faith and comments such as ‘ well god told me to- or indeed told me not to’ and inappropriate dinner questions such as ‘so why are you 30 and not married?’.
So back to my little game. There I was trying desperately to hunter gather the ingredients for three different types of sausage roll. Before you say anything, yes this was entirely necessary. Christma sis not Christmas without homemade sausage rolls. It’s a tradition. When my Grandmother uttered the words’ well we don’t really need them I can bring peanuts and crisps instead’ ..my face quickly informed her that bar snacks are not a festive treat.
So I returned triumphant from the supermarket- despite my mothers insistence that in order to get to Tescos and go around it I would need at least an hour- rubbish, I am a supermarket queen, in and out as quickly as possible. (not something I subscribe to elsewhere in my life I may add!)
Pleased with my haul and smug with my speed, I exited my car and as I lifted the bags filled with pastry and vege sausage meat (I mean seriously how is that even a thing, anyway!) I felt my car key slip out of my hand.
Assuming it had fallen into the shopping I carried on and emptied the bags. No key. I searched the drive, no key. 48 hours of frantic searching, an email to the local metal detector club and a call to the AA who quoted me £300 for a replacement, I was at a loss. No New Years trips for me and worse still, potentially 5 more days stuck in family hell.
The following morning I was making breakfast and as I opened my sourdough loaf to make some toast- there lying underneath and inside the packaging, was my car key.
My parents literally whooped with joy and thanks god- not in a ‘oh thank god’ in a literal hands up to the sky, it’s a miracle, thank you lord for your kindness way. They claimed they had been praying and this was proof that god answers prayers. I had to bite my tongue not to ask why God didn’t think to help me not lose my key in the first place or find it for me quicker rather than ruin my Christmas joy through worrying, I guess he was busy with like world hunger and Donald Trump.
The point of relaying this little story to you is to give you some idea of how I ended up here.
I am 34, I have a pretty good job. By good I mean well paid, creative, a career that I set myself the goal of getting into at 16 and have achieved it. I own a beautiful (though socially awkward) dog and a super needy cat. I live in a lovely flat and I am not rich but I am not broke either. Yet I am not happy.
Why? Because for me, life is supposed to be shared. Whether its a row with a colleague at work, a job promotion, booking a holiday or picking out the next colour for your kitchen walls, the little things in life are what make us and they are meaningless, to me, without someone to console you, celebrate with you or indeed simply share with you- like a sunset over the beach or the stars at night. We can experience life alone, be successful at it, but for me, I crave being able to hold those memories with someone else.
However, time is running out. In 2017 I turn 35 and am officially a geriatric mother according to the NHS. The Daily Mail keep telling me to freeze my eggs and tinder, well its a brave new world of women who use filters instead of make up and men who think their dicks are magical wands betrothed to them in order to lure in women.
In short, im screwed- but I am not quitter- so something has to give.
I am getting to the point where I have so many failed relationships that I am starting to look at the common denominator me. Or is it men? I have no idea,all I know is at 34, all I have to my name is a cat, a dog and a tumble drier. This does not a home make and so I need to take drastic action.