My advice to you
is this: Don’t tell your parents that you and your girlfriend have broken up.
Just don’t.
Telling your
parents that you’ve broken up with a long-term partner is impossible, because
they won’t really hear what you’re saying. Try and get a sibling to do it for
you or better still just never tell them and let her gradually slip from
their memories.
It’s not that they
won’t understand, or they don’t care, it’s just that they are simply unable to
comprehend what you’re saying. They don’t get it. It’s not in their nature to
hear adult problems coming from their children. The very thought that you might
be stuffing things up for yourself just as royally as they did freaks them out.
To them you’ll always be a kid, not a thirty-something slacker. It’s boring;
it’s frustrating, but it’s much safer and easier for all concerned that it
stays that way too.
Remember what
happened when your backpack was stolen in Athens and you were left with nothing
but the clothes you were wearing.
Beep beep beep
Mum: Hello
You: Hi mum.
Mum: Oh, who is
it?
You: Me mum, Bill-
Mum: Oh, but
you’re in Greece –
You: Mum the
money’s going to run out, can I –?
Mum: Oh, OK, I’ll
just get your father.
You: Mum!
Dad: Hello son.
You: Hi Dad,
listen can I –
(Mum in
background: “Ask him what time it is?”)
Dad: Your mother
wants to know what time it is.
You: It’s 3am, dad
can I just –
Dad: 3am love.
(Mum in
background: what day is it over there?)
Dad: What love–?
You: I can hear
her Dad. It’s Tuesday.
Dad: He says
Tuesday.
You: Dad, have you
still got my credit card details-?
Dad: Yes I’ll just
go and get them.
He puts the phone
down.
You: No da-!
Beep beep beep.
The phone cut out
and there went your last chance of having them wire money to you and have you
ever tried to sell a watch in a Greek pawnshop?
Exactly the same
thing will happen when you tell them that you and your ex, the one they thought
you’d be with forever, have broken up.
No matter what you
say, your mum will at first just not hear it. You’ll have to say it over and
over again until it finally sinks in, and when it does, look out, because
things just start to get very weird.
One of two very
disturbing things will happen: either she’ll think it’s your fault and that
something you did must have pissed off that sweet girl who’s been putting up
with your irritating habits for years, “and does that mean I’ll not see any
grandchildren?” or she’ll suddenly be so scathing about your ex that you’ll be
left stunned and bewildered, wondering what she’s really been thinking all this
time when she’s been offering her a slice of sponge cake and a cup of tea every third sunday evening of teh month.
You’ll finally see
the non-mum side of your mum. You’ll realize, perhaps for the first time ever
that she’s actually a person, that she’s got feelings, and that she’s just as
fucked up as you. She’ll see you in a new light too. She’ll see the potential,
idealised her-perfect-son version of you replaced by the actual and much less
appealing real you; she’ll realize that her little boy is just as messed up as
she is. You’ll go past the polite conversation and pleasantries that pass for
much interfamilial communication and hurtle straight into a full on mano a
(wo)mano slug fest, in which your mum pulls off the lovely oven gloves you
bought her for Christmas when you were ten and goes bare knuckle, toe-to-toe
with you.
She’ll treat you
like an adult. She’ll want details; she’ll ask questions; she might even ask
you about your sex life; she’ll want to know were you shagging around; was she?
She’ll get upset and your father will stand up and put his hands in his pockets
and look out the window humming a marching tune while you try and comfort your
mum, who just keeps dabbing her eyes, holding up her hands and repeating, “I’m
fine, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of a shock.”
Pretty soon though
she’ll pull herself together and head off to the kitchen to get the dinner on.
When she comes
back in, eyes red-rimmed, she’ll pretend that she’s, “fine really,” but you’ll
see it in her face – she can’t hide it - and every time you look at her you’ll
wish there was some way you could make her stop worrying, and so her pain -
which is really your pain - becomes yours again, only doubled, and so you clam
up, and you can’t tell her anything more. You become testy, touchy, and of
course this just adds another layer to her unease, and every time she so much
as touches you, you can feel her anxiety sucking at you like a baby at a tit,
and now you’re the one worried. You feel like the parent and you wish there was
some way you could make things better for her, but you’re just not right enough
in the head to cope with that. You’re not selfless enough to cope with someone
else’s load. You’re so self obsessed, so sorry for yourself that there’s just
no room for anyone else, and even though you know you’re being a silent, moody
arsehole to the two people in the world who are truly willing to listen to your
grief you can’t stop.
And when mum
finally clears away the plates, and you’re left alone with dad, who, after a
suitable silence, asks you if you watched the match yesterday, you’re still
grumpy, but you’re on familiar territory and you wish you’d just told him
instead. Because he’ll be gutted, he’ll be shocked and he’ll eat his insides
out with worry just as much as your mum, but he’ll do it quietly and without
any fuss. Like her, he’ll lie awake all that night, wondering whether you’ll
ever find happiness. He’ll spend silent moments remembering how you used to be
such a happy little boy, or maybe he’ll look back and remember that he always
worried about your state of mind, about whether you were the kind of person
who’d sail through life without any troubles, or whether you were always the
type to trip himself up or to get tripped up.
But he won’t let
you see that. The most he’ll say is, “Ah well,”. Dads know
better than to say any more than that.
This is my new washing machine. Teh first one I've ever bought by myself. I nicked back to the shop to take a picture of it, after seeing Amberley (I bumped into her after buying it and asked her to pop over and try it out). She looke damazing and although we haven't spoken in a long time we clicked. I hope it arrives soon. I hope she does come around to have a look at it. I sent her teh pic. Was that a good idea? Excited.
