Nan on the prowl

My Grandmother called me for my birthday last month; see if you can find the point where the conversation took a surprising twist.

Me: “Hi Nan [I call her Nan, short for Nanna], how are you?”

Grandma: “Happy birthday Darl [it’s short for Darling], I’m good, how are you?”

Me: “I’m excellent now, thank you for calling. What’s new?”

Grandma: “I’m getting married.”

Me: “You’re what now? Hang on let me pull over. You’re what now!?”

Take that to your front face. Not the usual conversation about lawn bowls and bingo. I did not even know she had a boyfriend.

Logically you ask when the big day is, as you can imagine time is not on their side. According to Nan, they have not picked a date yet because they are trying to get their own place first. My Nan currently lives with my Uncle, and you could him sigh with relief from next room. The last thing he wants to hear after a hard day at work is “Honey! Hurry up! The pills kicked in!”

Over Christmas they were going driving around the country side in a campervan – the elderly version of a shaggin’ wagon, as a pre-honeymoon. I am now coining the phrase, “If the campervans a rockin’… we’re probably making a cup of tea”.

I am happy for my Nan, and most of the family has taken it well. My Grandad passed away six years ago and Nan has been lonely ever since. She keeps herself busy as much as possible, but it does not replace what she has lost but merely distracts her; she needed to get out there and get back on it (only an expression). She said she would never love anybody like my Grandfather, and I believe her, but there is no reason that she should not love again.

Two years ago over dinner she told me she shaved her legs for the first time. Ever. Technically an “old growth forest” and needed government approval, but with pins like her's it was only a matter of time that Nan was the minx of the bowls club.

Weird dinner conversation as it is, it is also kind of cute. There is dottiness and excitement in her age that compares to the fumbling of a young teenager on a first date. When you look at it, there is a relationship between how society views the fire and the passion of doing something for your partner, or to woo a potential partner, against your age. For example writing “My love for you is endless like the sea” on a bunch of petrol station flowers when you are:

The graph of Cuteness. Legally Binding

Young = cute

A teenager = lovely but corny

Middle aged = sad

Post middle aged but Pre-retirement = ironically corny

Post retirement/elderly = back to cute

It is not impossible to be cute around the 30-50 bracket, its just a bloody lot harder. As I approach middle age, I become more aware of it each time I get stuck in the clippers when man-scaping.

The love letter you wrote in school would not have the same affect in the office, unless you spent time in the principal’s office for harassment. And it should not have the same affect. You are different now to what you were then. Life is different. Your responsibilities are different. What you expect from a partner is different. People, who yearn for their teenage glory years, do not be disappointed it will return in retirement. It’s just that the drugs to get you there will be different.

Good on you Nan, I hope that happiness will follow you, and you get it all out of your system when I go to visit you next.

Will you, I do, What?

There is no point in denying it anymore, I am going bald. It started thinning at the back so I could convince myself in the mirror that I was still fine, but it snuck up on me. There is no hiding it, as you cannot wear a hat inside forever no matter how backwards it is facing.

I asked around for advice because going bald is not that uncommon, but the guys at work gave me an odd suggestion, “hurry up and get married before you get too thin”. Really? Hurry up before I look too shit for my photos. I just might be that shallow, but I am not about to do anything that rash.

Wedding photos are from a happy point in your life, a major event where most of your loved ones will get together and bludge on your free food. The photos will come up again and again, so why wouldn’t you want to look your best, but to get married to only make sure you had good hair in the photos has a Kim Kardashian feel to it.

The idea of marriage scares me a little. Not the whole commitment thing, even though life is a long time considering you could get only 20 years for murder, but the idea of hosting a wedding party/reception/ceremony stresses me out. A wedding is the most expensive dress up party you will ever take part in, unless you do cosplay because then you are unlikely to get married.

A wedding is only a party, but it has to be perfect. No pressure or anything. Hosting parties used to be easy; couple boxes of goon, some punch, chips, dips, done. Maybe a Streets Viennetta if it was pay week. Music? I have a couple of mixed CDs here that I made, and a playlist when it became the 21^st century.

The planning that is required for a wedding is making eloping sound like a good idea. Then it would be more along the lines of changing utility provider. A celebrant comes over your house with a black folder and a name tag, you sign some forms, and then you update Facebook. Done.

I can foresee arguments in my future centred on me not pulling my weight. But if you want to get men more involved in weddings legalise gay marriage.

Right now, thanks but no thanks; I’m going to take my chances with Photoshop. If the bride can wear a veil so can I.