I strolled down to the shop this evening to get the makings of a curry for tomorrow night's dinner (I'm entertaining the new parents) and was standing in the half hour queue (ah, Tesco on Baggot St.) minding my own business and enjoying my internal monologue and Amon Tobin on my headphones when some cheeky cunt behind me kicked my basket. I turned around to see an old friend standing behind me.
I hadn't seen him in months, and he looks well. He's the cousin of one of my closest friends and we had a brief moment of passion some 6 years back. I was quite smitten with him at the time, hoped that something might come of it but of course it didn't. In fact, not too long after we'd kissed I ended up kissing another one of the cousins for a while and accompanying him to a family wedding (the groom thought this was fucking hilarious, introduced me to the in-laws as Jezebel the Harlot. They didn't get the reference, and called me Jess for the night). At the same wedding, the original cousin got falling down drunk and kissed a girl in a sparkly dress. They've been together ever since.
When I met him today he was dressed in a suit, looking dapper and well-kept. I wasn't. I had my rucksack full of shopping, he was buying bags at the counter for his designer dinner ingredients which he was taking home to cook for his lady. He offered me a lift, insisted, although it's not far. Turns out he has a new Mercedes, cream leather interior, and that they've just moved to an apartment in Ballsbridge. As a couple, they're the epitome of Celtic Tiger success. And it bores me to tears. Sometimes I think that I'd like to be in their shoes, paired off, settled, stable, secure. But I know it's not me, and I'm glad that he recognised that even when I didn't. He's not me, that life's not me, and I don't think it ever will be. I hope not, anyway.
I hadn't seen him in months, and he looks well. He's the cousin of one of my closest friends and we had a brief moment of passion some 6 years back. I was quite smitten with him at the time, hoped that something might come of it but of course it didn't. In fact, not too long after we'd kissed I ended up kissing another one of the cousins for a while and accompanying him to a family wedding (the groom thought this was fucking hilarious, introduced me to the in-laws as Jezebel the Harlot. They didn't get the reference, and called me Jess for the night). At the same wedding, the original cousin got falling down drunk and kissed a girl in a sparkly dress. They've been together ever since.
When I met him today he was dressed in a suit, looking dapper and well-kept. I wasn't. I had my rucksack full of shopping, he was buying bags at the counter for his designer dinner ingredients which he was taking home to cook for his lady. He offered me a lift, insisted, although it's not far. Turns out he has a new Mercedes, cream leather interior, and that they've just moved to an apartment in Ballsbridge. As a couple, they're the epitome of Celtic Tiger success. And it bores me to tears. Sometimes I think that I'd like to be in their shoes, paired off, settled, stable, secure. But I know it's not me, and I'm glad that he recognised that even when I didn't. He's not me, that life's not me, and I don't think it ever will be. I hope not, anyway.
