Krispy Kreme Romance

Regular readers will know that Oscar is quite the daddy’s boy.  He loves me, and I will do at a pinch, but it’s daddy for the win on every occasion that counts.

I am not a precious mother who relies on the unfailing adoration of all her children at all times for a sense of worth.  This is a very good thing indeed, as if I did, I would be on a constant supply of dried frog pills, rocking purgatorially in a corner. 

No. I am made of sterner stuff.

I am also quite wily.  If your child prefers the other parent, it means that you get to spend more time sitting around idly pretending that you do not have children, while they cuddle snot riddled, wailing infants who want nothing more than to climb inside their trouser turn up for eternity.

Oscar is very kind to me about his partiality.  It is not that he spurns me with a firm hand.  He sees me more as a kind of well loved lackey.  If we were Nineteenth Century aristocrats I would probably be cast as the loving nanny, with a name like Binky or Stuffer.  I would be excellent at providing boiled egg and soldiers, magic kisses for grazed knees, and help with spellings.  I would be remembered with warm affection.  Reverence would be reserved for papa and his mutton chop whiskers.

Oscar, as you may remember, is going to marry his daddy eventually.  He was rather worried about what would happen to me when he finally did marry daddy.  He told me quite categorically that although he didn’t want to marry me himself, and he didn’t want me to live with him and daddy (I am only allowed round if I come as the char lady and meals on wheels combined.), he didn’t want me to be lonely, and he worried about who would marry me.

Again, with the whole it’s a good job I am not a sensitive flower thing, right?

We agreed that if, when he’s twenty one, he still wants to marry daddy, I will step aside and divorce him so that Oscar and daddy can be together. I have said that by then I will have had over twenty good years of daddy’s company and will probably quite enjoy a few years of my own company by then, so he’s not to worry.

It was all settled rather amicably, until now.

Now there is a fly in the ointment.

Our good friend Saj came round for tea one evening, and Oscar became rather enamoured of her.  He has known her since he was first born, and although he has loved her as a friend, he has not loved her in a passionate way until now.

This particular evening however, he did offer to marry her, and seemed rather keen on the idea.  I am not one to cast nasturtiums, so I will not say that I think it may, in large part, have been down to the box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts that she brought with her.  Far be it from me to say.

She is delighted.  She has been looking for a husband for some time, and hasn’t yet got over the shock of Prince William’s engagement (apparently he was promised to her first).  Oscar’s proposal could be just the thing to lift her out of this depression she has been enduring.

She has been quite sensible about it, and has suggested that they go on a date first to see if they are as compatible in other areas as they appear to be over the subject of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

Oscar has concurred.  He is going to take her to the cinema on their first date.  She said that he could pick what they were going to see, which I think is a mistake.  He has put in his vote for Toy Story Three.  As I know Saj to be a woman who prefers Sex and The City and films in which Owen Wilson appears wearing no shirt, I think my initial reservations about her letting him choose are well founded, but the deed is done.

She has concurred gracefully.

Now we just have to wait another fifteen years for him to be old enough to take her.

And it looks as though Jason and I will be sharing a twin room in the Shady Pines Retirement Home for Old Fuckers after all.

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