Just Fine

If people ask you how you are, for goodness sake don't tell them.  

When things are bad, the only people who want to hear all about it are those fuelled by schadenfreude, the ones who always thought you needed bringing down a peg or two. Quite a lot of the mums from school fall into this category.  Happy to drink my coffee and eat my cake. Happy to use my nanny, then my au pairs, to help them out in a tight spot. Happy to accept teas, lifts, sleepovers when they had other plans.  

I thought there was a longitudinal reciprocity in this.  And I thought at first that enquiries into my wellbeing, or lack of, were rooted in concern.  That now the time had come for them to help me in return. A sleepover for the Troubled Child. A trip out to cheer up the other one. An invitation to pizza, coffee, spa days. Lifts and pick-ups, even a hand with the many, many appointments we now have to attend. Silence. Where are you now, you bunch of bitches? 

The larger group of people don't want to hear any bad news at all.  They loved hanging out with me when I was the life-and-soul. I've had a great idea! Let's do this! Let's do that! Picnics. Parties. Dinners. I'll arrange this, I'll arrange that - tickets for a show, a day out in London, a weekend away, a holiday. We had plenty of money too, and we were generous with it. Why not? They were our friends, and as Charlie Sheen said, "If I'm eating steak, my friends eat steak too".  Where are you now, you fuckers? 

The people who give a shit about me and how I feel can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Exactly, precisely. They know who they are. This is hell and high water, and here they are.