I am frightened. Genuinely and thoroughly terrified.
"What is it, Laura?" you might ask, because you are a concerned and generous Plogger. "What fills your soul with the utmost of utmosty dread?"
"Well," I would reply, "It's like this..." And I would continue until you too are pallid and shaking at the thought of what is to come.
Mr and Mrs Nunn are enjoying a well-deserved holiday in Tunisia. I have been to Tunisia. It is nice. I particularly liked the mountains providing a pretty backdrop and the sea being green and clear. I also liked the children's disco at the hotel we were staying at. Yes, I was 19. This is beside the point. I am not frightened of Mr and Mrs Nunn experiencing either mountains or a children's disco. That would be ludicrous.
A little while back, I was chatting to Nice Kate, who has just booked herself a well-deserved holiday... in Tunisia. The same week my parents are there. "Oh Laura," you might say. "You needn't worry. Tunisia is a big old country. There's no chance of them bumping into each other."
"Well," I would say. "Turns out they're staying at the same resort."
"Even so," you would continue, pacifyingly. "Your parents have never met Nice Kate. Even if they do bump into each other, they'll never recognise each other."
This is the point I would shake my head gravely. "They have swapped mobile numbers. There are vague plans to meet."
You would look a bit scared, but would say, "Well, how bad could that be? Nice Kate is - well - nice. And it might be lovely for her to meet your parents."
I would look at the floor and take a deep breath. "The last time Mrs Nunn met a colleague it ended with the immortal phrase, 'And anyway, I told your father, I'm not sleeping with any man who wears a mask to bed.'"
"Ah," you would say. "I see."
And slowly but surely the horror would sink in. This time I'm not even going to be there to supervise.
No comments:
Post a Comment