Andrew's grandfather called this evening to invite us to see a panto with him on Friday. Andrew covered the phone, asked me if we'd anything on that night. "He wants us to go to a panto!" he hissed, wild panic in his eyes. I told him that I had made plans to see a film with some friends, but that he should go anyway. And then I stuffed my fist into my mouth to stifle the giggles. He threw me a filthy look and then told George that we were very sorry, but we wouldn't be free on Friday. "How's Thursday?" asked George.
I love the idea of him bringing us, his grandchilder (in-law) to a pantomime in the parish hall. I imagine we'll be the only almost-30-year-olds there, or at least the only almost-30-year-olds there without children of their own in tow. We'll look like paedophiles. I'll bring some boiled sweets.
Yes, I love the idea of him bringing us, but I suspect the grim reality of it will dawn on me when I'm stuck in traffic on the N4 on Thursday evening.
I love the idea of him bringing us, his grandchilder (in-law) to a pantomime in the parish hall. I imagine we'll be the only almost-30-year-olds there, or at least the only almost-30-year-olds there without children of their own in tow. We'll look like paedophiles. I'll bring some boiled sweets.
Yes, I love the idea of him bringing us, but I suspect the grim reality of it will dawn on me when I'm stuck in traffic on the N4 on Thursday evening.
