I smiled with the knowledge that at least two men on this earth had found me sexy.
“It’s all right if you mention Dad, Mom!” said Carla.She’d taken the split very badly and in part blamed her mom, which surprised me. Carla’s mom had been very clear about things: the marriage had run its course, the kids were grown and it was time to live again—something like that anyway.
As everyone chatted names and diapers, I planned my breakout.
“Mom, would you like me to get you anything from the house?” I asked, buttoning up my coat as the child stirred slightly in Carla’s arms. “Mom?”
With her lips cracked and smelling of stale sweat, I had never seen my mother look happier. “No, love. I have everything I need right here.” She smiled at the Bingo Caller, who in return planted a kiss onto the thick clump of hair caked to her forehead.
“See you, everyone,” I sang. But I was answered by silence, as all eyes remained transfixed onto this little bundle that stirred in the arms of my best friend.
I slipped away, angry for feeling the way I did. I wasn’t a kid any more, I was pushing twenty-one, and yet…and yet…Mom, the Bingo Caller—and now their offspring—still had the power to encourage general feelings of shittiness to materialize. I returned home, located The Manual and reread the section on siblings.
It didn’t help.
T he Sprog cried constantly. Two a.m., six a.m., with Mom as she breastfed in the kitchen, me wondering if it would ever be possible to drag myself out of bed in a few hours for one of the five job interviews I had lined up. The first was for a PR firm as an office manager, which I had absolutely no chance of getting, what with beingunder-qualified, under-experienced and five years under the age limit.
Apply for a couple of jobs you have absolutely no chance of getting.
Why?
You might actually get one of them.
Plus it’s always wise to get in as much experience with interviews as you can. And if you don’t get the job, write to the company and ask them if they’d be kind enough to post you reasons as to why you didn’t get the job. It could be you were under- or over-qualified (yes, I’ve heard that one), didn’t answer certain questions the way they would have liked, anything. It’s always good to know, so you can prepare for the next one…
The interviews went well and, slowly, my confidence grew. Of course, I began to apply for somewhat realistic posts, using (and exaggerating) my office experience in America and my brief stint as a supervisor at the shoe shop. Meanwhile, the new addition to our household may have taken up most of Mom’s time, but she was still able to snatch moments in which to whine about my lack of attention to the Sprog.
“You know I’ve been busy with the interviews. Don’t you want me to find a job?”
“I’m just saying, you could give her a hold once in a while,” she ventured, ambushing me between the wall and her entire bodyweight, complete with babe in arms. “She doesn’t bite!”
“I know that!” But as I looked down at her, nothing really stirred within me. She was some kid who just happened to be related to me slightly. She didn’t particularlylook like anyone familiar and, lucky for her, the Bingo Caller needn’t be mistaken for her real dad any time soon.
“There you go!” said Mom in triumphant tones, as I placed my arms around the little body, which had really grown since our last encounter. She still felt so fragile, so soft, reminding me of the Tiny Tears doll I’d begged Mom to buy me, but which had somehow ended up in Carla’s Christmas stocking instead. The Sprog smiled, and Mom took this as confirmation that we were the best of friends.
“See, she loves her big sister, don’t you my sweet little darlin?” Lately, Mom’s voice could switch from “mildly intelligent woman” to “squeaky children’s television presenter” in seconds. I gazed down at the child, complete with counterfeit
“It’s all right if you mention Dad, Mom!” said Carla.She’d taken the split very badly and in part blamed her mom, which surprised me. Carla’s mom had been very clear about things: the marriage had run its course, the kids were grown and it was time to live again—something like that anyway.
As everyone chatted names and diapers, I planned my breakout.
“Mom, would you like me to get you anything from the house?” I asked, buttoning up my coat as the child stirred slightly in Carla’s arms. “Mom?”
With her lips cracked and smelling of stale sweat, I had never seen my mother look happier. “No, love. I have everything I need right here.” She smiled at the Bingo Caller, who in return planted a kiss onto the thick clump of hair caked to her forehead.
“See you, everyone,” I sang. But I was answered by silence, as all eyes remained transfixed onto this little bundle that stirred in the arms of my best friend.
I slipped away, angry for feeling the way I did. I wasn’t a kid any more, I was pushing twenty-one, and yet…and yet…Mom, the Bingo Caller—and now their offspring—still had the power to encourage general feelings of shittiness to materialize. I returned home, located The Manual and reread the section on siblings.
It didn’t help.
T he Sprog cried constantly. Two a.m., six a.m., with Mom as she breastfed in the kitchen, me wondering if it would ever be possible to drag myself out of bed in a few hours for one of the five job interviews I had lined up. The first was for a PR firm as an office manager, which I had absolutely no chance of getting, what with beingunder-qualified, under-experienced and five years under the age limit.
Apply for a couple of jobs you have absolutely no chance of getting.
Why?
You might actually get one of them.
Plus it’s always wise to get in as much experience with interviews as you can. And if you don’t get the job, write to the company and ask them if they’d be kind enough to post you reasons as to why you didn’t get the job. It could be you were under- or over-qualified (yes, I’ve heard that one), didn’t answer certain questions the way they would have liked, anything. It’s always good to know, so you can prepare for the next one…
The interviews went well and, slowly, my confidence grew. Of course, I began to apply for somewhat realistic posts, using (and exaggerating) my office experience in America and my brief stint as a supervisor at the shoe shop. Meanwhile, the new addition to our household may have taken up most of Mom’s time, but she was still able to snatch moments in which to whine about my lack of attention to the Sprog.
“You know I’ve been busy with the interviews. Don’t you want me to find a job?”
“I’m just saying, you could give her a hold once in a while,” she ventured, ambushing me between the wall and her entire bodyweight, complete with babe in arms. “She doesn’t bite!”
“I know that!” But as I looked down at her, nothing really stirred within me. She was some kid who just happened to be related to me slightly. She didn’t particularlylook like anyone familiar and, lucky for her, the Bingo Caller needn’t be mistaken for her real dad any time soon.
“There you go!” said Mom in triumphant tones, as I placed my arms around the little body, which had really grown since our last encounter. She still felt so fragile, so soft, reminding me of the Tiny Tears doll I’d begged Mom to buy me, but which had somehow ended up in Carla’s Christmas stocking instead. The Sprog smiled, and Mom took this as confirmation that we were the best of friends.
“See, she loves her big sister, don’t you my sweet little darlin?” Lately, Mom’s voice could switch from “mildly intelligent woman” to “squeaky children’s television presenter” in seconds. I gazed down at the child, complete with counterfeit
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