“Hello sweetie,” Mum says when I pick up the phone.
“Hi Mum,” I say.
“So I’ve found someone to operate on my finger and guess who it is? It’s your plastic surgeon,” Mum says, sounding so pleased with herself.
“But he’s my one,” I say, feeling sad. “Why can’t you have someone different?”
“I knew you’d be like this about it,” Mum says, laughing. “You’re so predictable, Tanya.”
“He’s going to prefer you to me,” I say.
“Well, I’m seeing him tomorrow after our day out,” Mum says. “I told your father you’d be like this about it and…”
“No, it’s fine. Sorry,” I say. “I hope your operation goes really well. Look I can’t really talk now, Mum, I’m sitting on my bed in a wet towel.”
“Bye darling,” Mum says.
So: I can’t get a boyfriend or even a third date with the Twitcher and even my plastic surgeon has gone off with my Mum. There must be millions of plastic surgeons in the world and yet she has to steal my one. Life is cruel.
We are suspending hostilities for a family day out today. Of course am writing this in bed rather than getting up, dressed and so on. Had better get going…