Ever since I started to socialise in my early teens, my parents have this thing about 'being a larry'. It's as if, if I don't go out, I must be a friendless recluse.
That, or they feel I go out so much, they have to poke fun at the fact that I'm staying in.
I know it's the latter.
So, on the cancellation of plans this evening my dad told me in a cheery voice 'So! You're being a larry with us this evening?'
Yes, yes I am, and I've never felt the need to be one more than this evening.
Work was horrible. We have a new guy who can barely speak English, I couldn't leave him for two minutes without the end of the world happening. Overcharging, wrong orders, mess. Urgh.
I have to keep reminding myself to stay calm, and the fact that in about eight months time I will be the incomprehensible, confused foreigner.
I hope karma is good to me for my patient ways, and that France is filled with nice tolerant people who will guide me gently and not get too stressed when I say bouffe instead of boeuf.
Wishful thinking!
So here's to lazy larry saturday nights. Curled up with hot chocolate and 138 episodes of 'You Are My Destiny' to keep me company.
I'm practicing pregnancy breathing for tomorrow's stressy times.
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