After a year and a half, we are in a house! I can’t quite believe it.
But now, MORE waiting (more Friends™ appropriate waiting) I’ve been on hold even more than Phoebe this week! Our moment of triumph has been tarnished by the bank taking not one but TWO mortgage payments from us. Over a month early!! Why is it so hard for banks to transfer a refund?! MOVING MONEY ABOUT IS YOUR ONLY JOB.
Couldn’t we just have this one thing go smoothly?
My job’s a joke, I’m broke… but at least my love life’s picking up now I’m not in my mum’s house.
“The One Where I Move Out My Parents House for the Third Time”
We’ve begun preparing for our honeymoon. Janice is terrified of needles, and the nurse did a very poor job of comforting her before jabbing her. Every time the nurse said the n-word the blood drained from her face. Needles, I mean, not THE n-word. That would have been cause for a lot more concern than a little needle.
The poor bedside manner was nothing compared to what Ross is going through after finding a strange growth. He’s passed around various doctors (including a rare black supporting character – I can’t even remember the last time the show had a black character) and eventually ends up being “cured” by an over-enthusiastic homeopaths watch.
I hate to think about what bits of skin might have collected on my Grandpa’s watch over the years.
Moving on rapidly… Phoebe is dating two different guys. How to decide between a buff fireman and a sensitive kindergarten teacher? I always thought this was a big cultural difference between New York and London – but it fits better now with our liberated, polyamorous, times.
I can’t speak for all my Real Live Friends but I do know that Monica Number Two dated several people at once before his current partner won the “jackpot”. And, of course, Joey routinely dates several people at once. Wait, sorry, Joey isn’t real. This is getting so confusing!
Phoebe has her work cut out for her, after finding there’s more to both her baes than meets the eye. The fireman even keeps a journal! The big loser. I legitimately turned to Janice at this point and asked:
“Would you ever date a guy who writes a journal?”
“Err… you do.”
Oh god… what have I become? And she's not just dating me but living with me as well! And we're getting married! The poor woman.
Fortunately the house is pretty much everything we could have hoped for, given the Brexit™ induced housing crash has yet to materialise. Yet another broken promise from our politicians…
It does seem super small compared to Millionaire Pete’s house. And he’s even got a VIDEO PHONE.
“We should totally get one of those!” I say, excitedly, to Janice.
“We’ve already got one” she replies, gesturing to her smart-phone.
… Yerh, but it’s not built into a wall.
Maybe it’s a little too soon to start bashing holes in walls? And it’s a little too soon for Monica and Pete to get married. She thinks he’s gonna propose and is surprisingly up for it! Oh Monica, it was only weeks ago you were lamenting the lack of a spark. Honestly, you show a woman one videophone and they fall at your feet.
Much to Monica’s disappointment, Mr millionaire isn't proposing, he’s actually planning a new hobby… ULTIMATE FIGHTING. I’ve never done a fight. At least not one that didn’t involve me being punched in the head repeatedly. Perhaps I should take up tai chi?
Monica’s disappointment reminds me of Janice a few Christmases ago. I went to a great deal of effort to construct her a wonderful photo-book telling the story of our relationship. Only for it to be completely undercut by her sister saying “that would have been a great way to propose…”
Real Live Sitcom Moment:
We just had a meeting with our wedding photographer.
He’s a bit of a caricature that would do well in a Friends™ guest spot. A blokey bloke with a penchant for dropping casual racism and sexism into the mix. He even managed to blame political correctness for the venue not letting him use a stepladder.
It’s like that old Stewart Lee™ routine:
But he’s a good photographer (our guy, not Stewart Lee). Hopefully he doesn’t read this and make us look terrible on the big day.