FIve years ago when my parents got divorced, everyone around me was so concerned about my well-being. I found it thoroughly amusing. My parents got a divorce when I was 19 years old. By then, I don't think anybody around my age would feel any sort of emotional vulnerability or experience any kind of loss whatsoever. I understood that divorce happens for a myriad of reasons. My parents just grew out of the marriage after 20 years. That's normal right?
I had a friend, who upon hearing the news about my parent's divorce, repeatedly asked me, "Oh dear, that is terrible news. Are you okay?" Shouldn't you ask my parents instead? And why wouldn't I be okay? I have potentially two extra weddings to go to in case both of my parents decides to get married again; it's a win-win situation. Oh grow up, people fall in and out of love all the time and at any age, and as long as my parents are happy, I am happy.
As luck would have it, I received a call from my dad yesterday and guess what? My old man is getting married again at a grand age of 45 (my parents are really young by even normal standards and it would be another blog post if I ever try to explain from the very beginning).
"Do I have your permission to get married again for the second time?" my dad asked over the phone.
"Why are you asking me? Aren't you the one getting married?" I answered.
"I just want your consent that is all," he said softly, trying to mask some emotional outburst of some sort.
"You're not marrying one of those Vietnamese brides right?" I joked to lighten things up.
"Haha, no. I have known her for three years, I'll let you guys meet her one day sometime next week, when you and Harold are both free," he said.
"Should I ask along your ex-wife?" I teased again.
"Well if you must know, I have met your mum, with my future wife, two days ago," my dad confessed.
"How progressive. Did mum scratch her eyes out, or did she spit in her coffee?" I laughed.
"Your mum was pretty...nice. She even said she would love to come to the wedding, when it happens," he shared.
"You do know that she is lying right?"
"Yup," was my dad's reply, matter of factly.
"Have you told Harold about this?" I asked again.
"Yesterday. Harold's pretty cool about it. I am lucky to have two understanding and mature sons, you boys never give me any problems," he spoke again softly.
"Stop this trophy dad talk okay? You want to get married, go get married, don't go all telenovela on me aye señor?"
He laughed.
Just then my mum came out of her room. I told my dad that I will call him later and put down the receiver and stared at my mum. She is in a little black dress, hair wash and blown, pearl ear studs, red lips and fake eyelashes on. She looks like Kim Basinger, in a very desperate housewives kind of way.
"What the hell is this?" I asked.
"I am going on a date," my mum said.
"With who? And since when did you own a pair of fake eyelashes?" I asked again.
"With someone," she winked.
"Ew! Why are you suddenly going out on a date? You have never went out with a man the past five years and now this?"
"The question is, why can't I?"
"Oh. My. God. Your ex husband is getting married and so you are trying to validate your worth by finding a man! This is not going to be a race of who gets married first right? Please tell me no, or I would feel I am in some weird French comedy movie," I said.
"You're so dramatic. It is none of those things," she replied.
"It is!" I reaffirmed.
"It is not!" my mum rolled her eyes.
"It so is. Oh my god. I know you!"
As if on cue, my brother went out of his room and stopped in his tracks. "Why are you dressed like that?"
"Like what?" my mum asked.
"Like a divorcee trying to get her groove back," he joked.
My mum slammed the door on the way out.
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