In a few months, I officially come of marriageable age. According to my mum. And since my last (and only) 'i'm sure this is it' relationship sank like the fucking Titanic, she has little or no trust in my ability to find a suitable boy in time to have babies before I have osteoporosis.
She has begun looking up the matrimonial section of our weekly parish news bulletin. She wants me to get in touch with a 31-year-old engineer from an oil and gas company.
"The only thing is you'll have to move to Quatar."
"But I'm 23, Mama!"
"So you think if you sit at home like this, someone is just going to waltz into your life when you're 26 and good and ready to be married? Life doesn't work like that."
I have a feeling this bad mood is going to last me all year.