Just got a little email from my friend: Lucy, if it is cold wear long sleeves. If it is hot, wear short sleeves.
Which is actually bizarrely helpful, because I currently am completely baffled about what to wear, and have spent most of this week complaining about being too hot, whilst living under the ominous shadow of ‘It getting cold’.
I spoke to my Mother briefly about the problem. ‘I don’t know what coat to wear,’ I complained. ‘Or do I even need a coat?’ My Mother was unable to help, because she was entirely preoccupied with her own problem. ‘Do you remember that nice girl you were at school with? Her big sister came into the office today. She’s 30! She’s getting married!’ She told me.
I stayed silent, because the ‘Everyone except you is getting married’ conversation really required no input from me whatsoever, and had recently been accompanied by little helpful texts from my Mother, encouraging me to ‘go out with someone quite ugly’ or to ‘lower your standards’. (Which I actually didn’t mind receiving at all, until I noticed that my little sister’s texts said things like, ‘Do not settle’ and ‘You are wonderful’). ‘I’m so old,’ my Mother wailed. ‘Can you believe it? I’m old.’
I didn’t really know what to say, because I have been sending my Mother little texts reminding her that the best days are behind her for months now, so I quietly waited for her to stop talking, so I could ask about my coat-dilemma again. Only she didn’t stop, so I had to firmly interrupt, and helpfully point out:
‘Mum. If you are young, wear short sleeves. If you are old, wear long sleeves.’ Which I think she also found helpful, because she stopped talking to stare at me in admiration. (Well, it was either that or some sort of age-related disorder, but I’m taking admiration).
I ask sensitively. My therapist changes the subject. ‘So,’ she says. ‘Have you had a good week?’ ‘I really have,’ I tell her. ‘I might go on a date with someone I met yesterday.’ My therapist asks me a few questions about this chap. She is unconvinced. ‘It’s only a date,’ I explain kindly. ‘You know you don’t have to marry someone just because you go on a date with them.’ My therapist is silent, and I remember that she herself has recently got married. ‘Um,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I probably should have mentioned this earlier. Sorry about that. Well, I think we both have a lot to think about. Speak soon!’ My therapist tells me that she’s at a conference for the rest of the day. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say reassuringly. ‘This is a safe space. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ (I know that when people feel threatened, they tend to retreat into established patterns. For my therapist, this is pretending she is an actual therapist). It’s early days, and we’ve still got a lot of work to do, but I think we’re making progress.
unfashionablylost 