Dear Uncle Al*,
Firstly, I would like to say thank you for inviting me to your son’s wedding. Let’s gloss over the fact that I was paid by my sister to attend (£40 to be exact. I’m cheap, I know)
You see my sister and I work on a rotational basis when it comes to family gatherings in order to preserve sanity and seeing as I attended the last Bridget Jones themed gathering, sorry wedding, it was her turn to be grilled on why she didn’t “have any young men in her life.”
Despite this, my sister gave her best Oscar winning plea on why she needed me there so I slipped my two crisp £20 notes into my clutch bag and dragged my sorry butt along.
Whilst I have the opportunity, I would like to apologise for dressing as though I was attending a funeral for a member of The Adams Family, but would also like to reiterate that my black ensemble was solely chosen to mourn the death of my motivation. I would also like to confirm that it was indeed the aroma of my teenage brother’s Lynx Africa that you could smell and this was only due to the fact that I couldn’t be bothered to go upstairs in order to spray myself with Chanel No5 before we left the house, which I’m sure would have been more appropriate.
Although I was reluctant to attend, I was surprisingly content sitting at the back of the room eating myself into oblivion whilst my mother chatted away to relatives I’ve never met. This was until the ground swallowed me whole and continued to transport me to the Question Time studio where the David Dimbleby impersonators of the family would proceed to dissect whether I had “settled down” or not.
Just to confirm, yes I am “settled” and no I am not in a relationship. The two are not mutually exclusive (Shocker!) and at 23 years of age I would like to think that I don’t instil terror in the hearts of men.
Whilst I was left reeling from a series of unfortunate exchanges, my sister was on top form proceeding to scrutinise everyone’s outfits, despite the fact that we ourselves, both looked like Patti Smith and Run DMC were forming a super group. If it wasn’t for me constantly having to tell her to “wind her neck in” I would have been forced to face the reality that everyone else had more of an issue with the fact that I was single than I did.
Luckily, we were blessed with the company of my great aunt. She was a treat, and it was through meeting up with her soon after the wedding that I found out about your little attempt at playing Cilla Black.
Whilst I appreciate you trying to pair me off with some poor soul (I don’t), informing me first would probably have spared us, as Cilla would say, a “lorra lorra” awkwardness (I know, I’m terrible.)
Please be aware that I am trivialising a somewhat serious matter here when I say that pairing me with someone so old that a Ouija Board would be required in order to communicate with them effectively, is probably not ideal. Ok I may be exaggerating slightly, a 10 year age gap isn’t bad at all and as Yoko Ono once said, “Some people are old at eighteen and some people are young at eighty”. However in this case, are you really suggesting that I potentially spend the rest of my life with someone who fails to understand the reason why I still think Art Attack is the best thing on TV?
Call me old fashioned but ultimately, I don’t think we go through the perks and perils of life in order to settle for anything less than we deserve. Being single isn’t what terrifies me; I’m more concerned about leading a mediocre life filled to the brim with, monotonous routine, boring clothes and bad coffee. I love a cheesy love story as much as the next woman but until then, I think I’ll stick to paying full attention to my current squeeze, my growing collection of literature.