Copyright© 2013 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
“Jacquie is planning on doing a civil partnership with her girlfriend,” I said to Simon who was reading the paper after dinner.
“If France beat England and Wales beat Italy and we beat Ireland, the Six Nations would be wide open.”
“I’m going to get a rugby ball tattooed on my left tit.”
“Yeah, okay—none of the pundits give France a chance—what did you say about rugby balls?”
“Does anyone really care about a silly rugby match?”
“Silly? it’s better than those idiots on bikes rushing round in circles.”
Damn, I’d forgotten the track championships were on. I’d have to look on the internet later.
“Did you hear what I said about Jacquie?”
“Of course I did, though why she would want a rugby ball tattooed on her tit defeats me.”
“That was me?”
“Tattoo? Cathy you can’t stand tattoos.”
“I was trying to catch your attention.”
“You had it all the time, I was listening.”
“Simon, if you’d been listening you’d have heard me tell you that Jacquie wants to do a civil partnership with her friend.”
He looked at me for a moment trying to take in the information I’d just given him. “What for?”
“What d’you mean, what for? They live together as lovers, I’d have thought it was obvious.”
“Do they, what’s her friend’s name?”
“I’m not sure, she calls her Jerry so it’s probably Geraldine.”
“Um—Irish catholic I expect, oh well that should piss off the pope.”
“Simon, what are you on about, what’s the pope got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, he won’t marry them anyway.”
“Of course he won’t, he’s celibate.”
“I meant perform the marriage.”
“It isn’t a marriage, Si, it’s a civil partnership.”
“Oh, I thought namesake had brought in same sex marriage?”
“I think it’s got through the Commons, but still has to get through the Lords and that’s where the bishops sit plus one or two other sky pilots.”
“That’s an old army term.”
“Is it?” I wasn’t too concerned if it was invented by Donald Duck except I couldn’t do his silly voice, though at times I seem to be as crabby as he is.
“So why are they having this civil wotsit? And can’t you talk her out of it, she usually does what you tell her?”
“Not this time. I’ve asked her to bring Jerry or whatever her name is over on Sunday to meet us and discuss the arrangements.”
“Discuss them—don’t you mean talk her out of it?”
“She’s over eighteen, Si; she can do as she wishes.”
“Doesn’t she want to be a blushing bride with half a dozen bridesmaids?”
“Think about that for a moment, Simon, when did you last see Jacquie in a dress of any sort?”
“I have no memory for that sort of thing, when was it?”
“When Julie did a makeover on her.”
“When was that?”
“When she first came.”
“She’s not a girly girl like you then?” He smirked just in time to save his life and I glared at him. “Ooh, Little Miss Grumpy, I do believe,” he said and chuckled to himself because I wasn’t laughing. “Why d’you find that so insulting?” he asked and I wasn’t sure I knew the answer.
I shrugged instead and hoped he didn’t ask. When I was child, I’d have loved to have been bedecked in frills and ruffles but I guess I just grew up. Being a woman isn’t being covered in perfume and petticoats but an attitude of mind, a declaration of something inside not the external fripperies which are more likely to say, ‘I’m immature and need a parental figure in my life.’
It’s fine for others, don’t get me wrong, I don’t care if other females or some males want to dress up like that, that’s their affair but it isn’t for me. I do wear very female clothing on occasion when I want to emphasise my gender or even sex, but mostly I wear practical clothing, usually trousers and tops because it’s easier. I still feel female and care about how I look but I don’t need to flaunt it. Simon knows what’s under my jeans so I dress for comfort.
Mima is the girliest of our lot with possibly Julie in second place. Livvie can be girly but as she has to wear a skirt to school she’s happy in trousers the rest of the time, so is Trish. They do occasionally play with dolls but not very often, if you recall when Cate bit the head off Trish’s Barbie, it was weeks before she got another one. As far as I know it’s still in the box in her cupboard.
They each have a cupboard which has a combination lock on it so only they know the number to enter their cupboard and their toys or prized possessions. They all sleep together—in separate beds—but in a shared room, so some sort of privacy for their possessions is essential.
Meems’ bed is like Noah’s ark with soft toys and dolls stuffed all over the place. There’s barely room for her to get in some nights. Livvie and Trish have some soft toys, but nowhere near as many. Meems also likes to play with her dolls and likes to help with the little ones in the house. I suppose she might grow out of it, but it could also indicate she has leanings towards being a mother. Having said that, I didn’t get to play with dolls very much I sort of waited until I had real kids to play with—not that I had much choice.
“Now who’s not listening?” Si enjoyed getting his own back.
“Sorry, I was thinking about something.”
“I think that was rather obvious, anyway aren’t you supposed to be able to multitask?”
“That’s a myth.”
“Yeth, only mitheth can do it,” he said in a silly voice.
“So what do we do about Jacquie and her friend.”
“What can we do, are they coming for sure?”
I shrugged, “She said she’d think about it and phone tomorrow.”
“That’s kind of her.” His voice conveyed a sense of hurt which he then elaborated, “Without your help she’d still be sitting in a room sucking her thumb.”
“I don’t think she was that bad.”
“Come off it, Cathy, you did a lot of work on her, she had no self esteem and she barely knew which way was up. Now look at her, completely different, doing a degree and getting on with her life.”
“Isn’t that how it should be?” I asked.
“Yeah, but she could show a bit of gratitude to the woman who gave her back her life.”
“Children don’t necessarily show gratitude to those who help them once the initial moment has gone. They’re too wrapped up in themselves.”
“But she’s not a child.”
I wasn’t sure about that, so once again I shrugged.
“If I answer the bloody phone I’ll give her a piece of my mind—how dare she do this to you?”
“Why not, she deserves it.”
“Because if you do we’ll lose her forever.”
“It might be a case of good riddance.”
I felt my eyes tear up and a drop of boiling water ran down my cheek.
“Now what have I done?”
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