We left Johannesburg on Friday. We bade another tearful goodbye to Sonja and David. It’s always hard to say goodbye to family. We have a farewell system now, the rules of which are adhered to religiously every time we part. We get dropped at the airport door, everyone gets out of the car, a quick cuddle and a goodbye and straight to check in. There is no point in dragging it out, it makes it worse.
Today we fly to New York from Heathrow. I am very excited. I’ve never been to America. The USA – I often wonder if Robert Ripley ever had the idea of taking a picture of the USA from space and housing the photograph in his museum. Imagine an aerial photo of the States! I can see it now – lots of baseball parks, high-rise buildings, corn fields, Muscle Beach, the Grand old Opry and Pamela Anderson jugs, all visible from space.
Kobus and I are sitting in the airport. We are sitting opposite a family, Mum, Dad and three children. Children are annoying in any language. One of the kids is complaining in Spanish that she is too hot to her Mum. She’s repeated it about fifty fuckin’ times! Shut up child! Take off your jumper if you’re too hot! Also, why is her Mum ignoring her? By not responding to her stupid complaint, the rest of us have to endure her whining. I might throw my orange juice bottle at her child if she doesn’t stop complaining.
Oh good, we are boarding soon. I hope that family aren’t sitting near us!
Some time later:
I jinxed us! The complainer and her family are sitting right behind us on the plane and guess what, SHE’S FUCKIN’ HOT! I used to pride myself on being a patient person. Actually, maybe I’m not patient just internally violent. We are surrounded by children and babies. Crying, moaning, asking questions about seatbelt fastening, fidgeting and playing with the tray table! Although, there is a really cute little boy sitting in front of us. He just asked his Mum if he could see her credit card. Now he’s teaching his brother how to understand the safety instructions.
“It’s starting Michael. The plane’s starting. Put your seatbelt on! Put it on now!”
Ha! No, the plane is not starting. It’s being refuelled.
Note to self – When I have kids, their first holiday will be when they are 16! Food is coming soon. Will write later.
Later:
I was having a think about children while munching on my acrid excuse for a dinner. I like children. Really, I do! They are small and cute and have endless creativity and buckets of potential. Children have no fear which I admire. But I don’t think I want a child yet. At the ripe old age of 29 years and 5 months (I hope you noted the sarcasm!) many of my peers believe my womb is craving to be accommodated with the spawn of Kobus. They can fuck off! You should hear some of the shite I have to listen to.
“Oh, but Loren, the risks and complications of being an older mother! You would be silly not to consider them!”
“Do you really want to be old when your children are teenagers?”
I must point out that other people are not so nosey or opinionated. I am merely taking about the select few nincompoops who seem to be overly concerned with the reproductive systems of the newly married women of Western Europe. When the comments first started, I smiled nicely and sang romantically that one day the world would hear the dull thud of baby Venter feet. After a while, my responses became curt, sharp and short. Then, I started to lose my temper. When I started to lose my cool I thought it wise to get some medical information from my 70 year old male GP. What a legend!
“Loren, 35 is a fine age to have your first child. You could have a second when you are 37 if you wish. I assume you don’t want to have a football team my dear girl? The days of large Catholic families are long gone. It’s not a good idea to have a child if you are not ready. Don’t worry my girl! You may ignore the opinions of the medically uneducated.”
So, I took the great Doc’s advice. And here we are! On the way to the States!
No comments:
Post a Comment