This is entirely fiction. Completely. Utterly. Except for any true bits
July 31st Woken at seven by panicked First Born. ‘Uncle Rodney.’
Rodney is First of Her Name’s elder brother. He is a consultant urologist and makes novelty door knobs in his spare time from casts he takes of his patients’ privates. He is not a nice man.
The current problem is he has fallen out with his younger sibling Thornton who has begun dating an ex of Rodney’s, one Gladys Thrombolio. Rodney will ‘cause a scene’ if Uncle Thornton attends the wedding.
Helpfully suggest (a) they are grown-ups so can be trusted to sort themselves out (‘Dad, they’re Mum’s relatives. Is that likely?’ I have to admit the truth of this.); (b) they may not come (‘Dad they are Mum’s relatives and you’re paying. Is that likely?’ I admit that is true, too); (c) I could try and negotiate a compromise (‘Dad, they’re Mum’s relatives…’ See above).
At this point First Of Her Name wakes and takes phone. I am dispatched to make tea.
Try and eek out tea making so the resulting brew will be ready in a week but am back in the presence just as the phone is tossed onto my side of the bed.
‘Did you sort things out, Sweetness?’
‘Rodney says he will not back down. If Thornton’s invitation is not rescinded he will embarrass First Born by making a purse out of the surplus foreskin he kept when he circumcised you last year and give it to her as a wedding present.’
A lot of thoughts compete with each other, around professional ethics and tastelessness but I try levity (it never works but while I am used to hope being beaten by experience with the regularity of an Anglo-German penalty shoot-out, I keep coming back more). ‘If he does, we could suggest the Fiancé merely gives it a rub and then they’ll have a large suitcase for their honeymoon.’
Am pleased with myself but First Of Her Name eyes me bleakly. ‘You always did have a high opinion of yourself.’
Spot Spiro Agnew on landing licking his balls; realise why a contented existence is called ‘a dog’s life’.