Читать книгу William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story - Matt Rudd - Страница 46

This was always going to be a difficult day: both sets of parents coming up for an afternoon stroll, then wedding photos, then dinner. Seemed so simple—we have nice, non-problematic, hang-up-free parents. No messy divorces, no excessive corporal punishment, no strange method-parenting guaranteed to instil some deeply hidden psychological bomb set to go off any time in early adulthood. But then you have to consider the conflicting requirements: it’s like doing the catering at an allergy-sufferers’ convention.

My mum: South African interior designer, impatient; loves short walks, dogs, home improvements; hates cats, overcooked vegetables, old art-house movies from Japan.

Her mum: Polish doctor, impatient; likes cats, home improvements, cleanliness; hates dogs, undercooked vegetables and walking anywhere that isn’t strictly necessary. ‘I escaped through the Iron Curtain, my darlinks, with only forty zloty, some silver spoons and my university certificate hidden in my tights. I walked through Europe to be here. I have done enough walking.’

My dad: English; traditional; slowing down a bit. Likes not saying very much, except when he tells a story, which can take hours. Leaves rest of liking and hating of cats, dogs, vegetables and home improvements to Mum.

Her dad: ditto, but more so; doesn’t suffer fools, gladly or otherwise. In fact doesn’t really suffer anyone or anything. Especially short walks. Short walks are stuff and nonsense. In his day, he walked 100 miles just to buy the milk.

Even before the lunch began, I knew it would be difficult. Isabel in big mood because her razor is blunt and her legs, consequently, look like streaky bacon. I obviously know nothing, which only makes her more grumpy. Then, the family arrives.