So… I’m pouting again, but over a WHOLE other issue.
I’m at my Aunt’s this weekend, and we’re giggling about my so-called ‘prospects’ on the Net, and she’s pointing at a 75-year old with a spicy resumé, saying: “If you had children with him, they would be born 40.” I remonstrate with her, telling her that old people are people too, but when I go into the bathroom half an hour later, the joke hits me and I laugh hysterically for a good ten minutes. Then I come out and SHE’s pouting. The matter? Well, just the little one of one of her best friends (of many, many years, since they’re both in their late 60s)… is getting remarried.
Now, remarriage is generally frowned upon in Kenya, for anyone who wasn’t tragically widowed or divorced when they were very young, especially when they have children, and most certainly when they’re wealthy. But then there’s the matter of the suitability of the groom, and apparently the general consensus among their clique of friends and family (and unknown to the bride, naturally –and you thought gossip ended in high school) is that he is TOTALLY unsuitable. One of the most respected members of the family has indeed gravely pronounced the fact, and his view has carried serious weight. He is male though, and whatever his reasons, the women have an unending list of their own, headed by the fact that the man has a weak chin. I’m trying not to smile at this stage, because, aside from the fact that this is right out of Jane Austen… who can see a weak chin beneath all those folds? Still, there it is. And it is going ahead. The bride-to-be’s friends are thoroughly shocked, and deliciously a-flutter for the first time in YEARS. I’m thinking (as you do when you’re a writer, and completely wrapped up in your own issues, so that everything really applies to you –or should) WHAT THE HELL? She’s getting ANOTHER round? Where’s MY FIRST?
And I could have digested this and let it go eventually… except last night, I’m watching one of my favoured murder shows (Neighbour-Next-Door) and there’s this 85-year old victim at the centre of the reported tragedy –and even SHE was engaged, at the time of her death. I’m not even sure I absorbed the rest of the story, I was so outraged. I mean, ENOUGH already, ‘Universe’, I GET the message. And I AM trying to get off the shelf, honest… not very hard, but still trying.
My Aunt says that it will come when it will, and I should think of and do other things –which is certainly what I’m doing. I’m not reading Fairy Tales or watching the gate for a random White Horse (which are actually grey, and anyway, I prefer bays.)
So I’m pouting again. But only for a moment or two, because I may have identified my Plan Z for the year: a 58-year old Ausi who is waiting for me to fly over to him and get on the back of his Harley Davidson, so that we can (literally) ride into the sunset together… before having a couple of Ausi kids who will no doubt drive me mad with their love of bushwacking and walkabouting, when I can’t even handle the idea of camping out anywhere.