all eyes on ricebag

Now that my littlest cousin, perfect baby Dhink1 Dhink2 Dhink3 has come along and is officially the last baby from our olds (the generation of our parents, aunties & uncles) ... all eyes are on the next gen - specifically moi.

AAAAAAAARRRGH. As much as I love my Family. Much of the time I feel like running away from them.

I suspect they talk about it constantly behind my back ... IT being when & who ... WHO who will be the father of ricebag's children. Do not fear - their scheming has gone into OVERDRIVE lately as they plan all the ways to make sure I am with someone they approve of and make sure I am not with someone less than worthy.

Last Friday night I had a dinner/play date. That whole evening my various aunties were texting me constantly ... unbeknownst to me, The Warrior was attending a Toyota Enga Mioks football function in town that night and they were keeping tabs, making sure their bright star wasn't in danger of fizzling fast punch on the cheap champagne high of third love.

If they'd ever bothered to ask me (heaven, Wabag and MyMama forbid), I could have told them I've taken up with another love affair for now - my Family - them! I could save them much worry right now and say Don't Worry, I am not in love with HIM. That I've left him behind. But I think I'll let them stew some more ...

So we had ANOTHER family do/bbq on Sat'dee nite and everyone is studying my slightly more prominent love handles and the fact that I've gone UP a size in ribbon-waisted stone-washed jeans (please note - this last admission is somewhat distressing to me but doesn't exactly make me want to top myself - about the jeans size NOT the stone-washed aspect). Women all over Aunty Ds forecourt are pinching my sides and patting my tummy, checking the actual size of my jeans and rubbing my back. I feel like the fatted bloody calf.

Whenever I come home everyone feels free to comment on my size ... "too skinny" or "dont get any fatter" or "don't lose any more weight" or "nice and fit" or "nice and fat" ... fact is, we Engans like our women built for baby-making and stocky for gardening and strong for loving/fighting/making ash-cooked sweet potato etc

So whilst I am feeling dangeorusly close to ordering diet pills off e-bay, these ladies I am related to are declaring me JUST perfect and admonishing me at the same time with "don't get any fatter". Am I being prepped for the sacrifice on the mount? For thanksgiving?

I'm no DHINK.

dhink : livingroom gerehu 2005 : beautiful fish-face. i just love you baby dhink. i do. so. dundu-o.

... but I'm still a babe.

So the olds are measuring skin for love and planning the next level of the procreation game and I am roasting under the heat but not minding so much.

All I know is it is going to be a lot not a little hard for them when I do become ensconsed and find my worthy adversary ... they're going to have to let go - again. They let me leave home when I was barely into my second decade and ever since that day the finding and fumbling of love was all my own domain, in the thatre for one - me to oversee and scrutinise. Recently returned to them ... and single ... they're hell bent on making sure perfect daughter fulfills all their best wishes. I just hope they know sometimes their standards aren't mine ... that this fatted calf isn't going to deliver them with the trophy-shiny-perfect life ... that ricebag just might fuck-up-for-love in full-view of them (again) and they might just have to let her do that.