I need the cognac

My cousin’s getting married this Saturday and I was invited to the reception. I’m not so fond of her, and more so for her mother. I don’t think it’s fair of me to dislike her just because her mother happens to be Dragon Lady from Hell. Trust me, this is the polite name for her, didn’t want to sound too disrespectful in front of my dad. She’s his sister, regrettably.

Anyway, I’m going because my folks want to me to. We’re family after all but just because I have no choice doesn’t mean I have to like it. I also don’t think I moved far away enough but that’s my long term goal. I think I’ll be chanting prayers in my mind as I face the pre-apocalypse brigade at the restaurant. Zen, just think Zen, like Irene always says.

I could even start making a pamphlet on finding myself a “good man” though process of elimination, since they’re so hard to find and Iron Maiden asked me for one if I found any but I haven't so I guess the next best thing is to make one. For example: I can have bullet points running down the right hand side with qualities I don’t want in a man or something to that nature. Don’t date a man with fingernails longer than yours, men who talk too loudly want all the attention to themselves and you’re his girlfriend because you cater to his whims and are slowly losing your hearing capabilities (i.e. Loudmouth McBlabberson on the train today), etc. Crap like that.

Goodness knows there will be a lot of inspiration at the zoo, I mean the reception. I hope I make it back in one piece; they might provoke me into throwing plates at people’s heads and it’s not because I’m celebrating either. Please pass the cognac, gross as I think it is, I need it to pass the time.