Читать книгу William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story - Matt Rudd - Страница 41

Lunch at Alex’s to meet his new girlfriend (who he seems to have rustled up despite his alleged grief at being dumped by Watszerface) and to go through wedding photos (which, apparently, he can’t wait to see). Consider knifing myself to get out of going but it is made clear that this is not an option. I must stop behaving like a child. It’s very unattractive. Alex, bless him, has made a Moroccan tagine to go with his new Moroccan-themed terrace and his new conveniently Moroccan girlfriend. Don’t know what’s wrong with roast chicken. It is a Sunday lunch after all. He says Sunday lunch is the new Saturday night and threatens to make this the first of several ‘day dos’ through summer.

Despite my silent, desperate prayers, it doesn’t rain, the tagine isn’t burnt beyond recognition, he doesn’t suffer anaphylactic shock from the couscous and the afternoon is simply splendid.

Although I’m left exchanging pleasantries with the Moroccan girlfriend while Alex calls Isabel babes a lot, says all the right things about how wonderful the dress/flowers/father’s speech was, and touches her on the arm repeatedly.