Lovely Personality

Poor Sassy had to endure the bane of the single adult, a family wedding at the weekend.
That brought so many horrors to mind, not least the fact that I have a wedding to attend in the Village of the Damned later this summer. Brrrr.

These days, at family gatherings I find it too much of a hassle to constantly go through the:
"Yes I do have a girlfriend, thank you."
"Well where is she?"
"Actually she's not from the Norfolk end of my commute and things are more than a tad complicated at the moment, so …"
"Huh! Aren't we good enough for her?"
So - like Sassy - I get the "whispers". Mad little Aunts' heads get conspiratorially close together when they see me across the room and the fact that I'm "not seeing anybody" gets tutted over.
Then I either get labelled as gay or paired off with a Morlok.

I don't mind the "gay" thing so much. After all, I'm a middle aged man living alone and anyone walking into my house is confronted with some of the gayest rooms imaginable, full of lovely books and paintings and Tiffany lamps and colours and textures and furnishings arranged with such exquisite taste that macho men run screaming out the door.
The sad fact is that I just don't fancy the bum sex. I like kissing girls. Hey ho.

It's the "Morlok" thing that pisses me off about family.
Ever since the end of my sixteen year purgatorial sentence living with Ming The Menstrual, family and friends have been charitably pairing me off with X's daughter or Y's sister.
These women are invariably described as having a "lovely personality".

Hokay, having met some of these - let's generously call them "females" - I find that some of them do indeed have a lovely personality. And they certainly need it.
As Mum said when trying to set me up with one of them, "She's a little bit chubby but she does have a lovely personality".
Mum, she's fat! And I mean fat like an American!
I'm not the world's biggest fan of fat … or facial hair or acne or personal hygeine problems, especially not in combination and definitely not on a date. Some people may find these things erotic but that pleasure has sadly passed me by.
And when it comes down to it, these women do NOT have a lovely personality; they are bitter and vindictive and are single for very good reasons.
So please stop trying to force me to breed with fucking Morloks!

Which brings me back to the Village of the Damned.
Every time I go to a party there (and I go quite often, to remind myself why people should never breed) it's as if I'm wearing a large neon hat that reads: "New Genetic Material".
The village of ---- is at first glance full of stunningly beautiful young girls and yet I know from watching them over the years (like Jane Goodall only with less intelligent subjects) that by the time they hit twenty they will have ballooned to sumo size, married within the family and developed the personal habits of a particularly vicious sloth.
These hideously inbred creatures loom out of the murk of the dancefloor with horrid graspy hands and reeking, toxic fag-breath laced with enough booze to fell a moose. A nightmare vision of yellow fingers and yellow teeth, plastic boots and mousy roots. Ick! If you follow the link you'll discover why I describe these evenings as "Dawn of the Dead with party dresses on".

Weddings are even worse.

At least I have a lovely personality to help me to cope with all this crap.