Most of us over thirty have been on the wrong end of a relationship break up. It can and does impact upon your life in a very serious way. I’m not going to be a dad before forty for starters. And chances are, on a single income, I’m not going to be able to afford that TV Licence.
I may never be a dad now. Entering middle age knowing I haven’t even started creating the people who might look after me in the future’s a worry. If I somehow beat that heart attack that’s coming my way, the one that took out both my parents in their fifties, some distant relative, maybe my God Daughter who I see like four times a year, will probably be the one who puts me in an old people’s home.
It might cost her her husband, but it’ll stop me from being smacked about and hey, if you’re going to get cleaned and washed by someone, it might as well be a relative
She won’t even agonise over that decision. She’ll remember her parents telling her that her Godfather rarely visited and he always forgot her birthday. I’m resigned to either that heart attack or the old people’s home where I’ll be beaten up by nurses that haven’t even been born yet. Some choice.
That future scares me. I’m going to have to work on seeing my God Daughter a little more and build up such a close relationship with her that in the future, she’ll feel some obligation to me and feel like she has little choice but to take me in. It might cost her her husband, but it’ll stop me from being smacked about and hey, if you’re going to get cleaned and washed by someone, it might as well be a relative. She’ll have a rota and her and her children will have to take turns dragging out my twisted and infirm body into her yard and hosing me down, praying for the day I die to arrive.
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