The wedding will take place in 5 weeks.
Not my wedding, of course. Sorry, didn’t mean to tease you like that. Last year, I sent a couple to work at Roman ruins and they came back with the news.
This is me, posting something that I might regret later on. Blame it on the hormones.
There’s this article I read about the future being female.
My future is female, isn’t it? No nice men, only ever increasing number of cats. I am going to get all eccentric and retire to a farm in Pendang with sixty cats, leaving my nieces and nephews to grind their teeth in fury when I leave everything to the clubhouse.
I could see it now.
I didn’t actually have a cat yet, but it’s inevitable. So you’ll forgive me if I wasn’t too thrilled at the wedding announcement. Love hurts, and wedding should be banned from inviting single people, hateful torture sessions that they are.
Standing around with all the old parents and parents’ mates comparing who’s been paired off to whom: score one for boyfriend, four for engaged and a clear six for married.
Even worse are the actual young couples, sneaking their arms through each other’s in such a way that you look, and then they blush and pretend to have been caught out. And say patronising things about how great it must be to have a career. Urgh, they make me sick.
Hey hey hey! Stop it E!
What’s got into me? Ok, I’m a romantic who wanted the whole thing, the real deal. Who wouldn’t? Only I don’t want it, like... now. What scared me was that the guy in this fantasy is still – faceless?
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