Thursday, 5 January 2012

World War Three

There's an awful stereotype about families that live in suburban areas, especially if their parents are bankers. People seem to assume that these people's lives are perfect and that the family spends dinner time praying and talking with enthusiasm about one another's day, never quarreling about what the other person said.
I can tell you now that this is all a lie. I live in a suburban town and my parents are bankers but our life is far from perfect. For starters, our dinner table talks mainly resolve around politics which sounds fairly middle class; except for I am extremely left-wing and pro-immigration, and the rest of my family is very right-wing and anti-immigraton. Dinner time is never fun.
Then there's the fact that right now I seem to be slap bam in the middle of World War Three.
Basically I have lost my National Insurance Card and naturally my parents went beserk on me. But I don't mind being told off once, appoogising and helping to look for the card. What I cannot stand is my family's chosen method: rabbitting on and on and on and on about it, making you look for the card literally for hours (it gets to the point where you have looked in every place imaginable and you have to start again so that you don't seem "lazy") and then they talk about how "disorganised" you are and yaddah yaddah yaddah...
It doesn't really bother me and I'm not going to lose too much sleep over it. Although I say that and I have been crouching here next to my radiator for a good half and hour. I reckon that I must have lost weight sitting here - my skin feels as though it's melting off fat as I sit here in my babygrow (it's NOT called a onesie!!)

Hopefully the card will just turn up out of the blue as the debit cards and oyster cards have done before it...
Wish me luck and keep you posted (if I do live through this warfare),
Grammar Gal

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