For some reason I have been quite ratty this afternoon. It could be because the children are all over-tired and they are making me grumpy with their bickering.
We are paying the price for staying at some friend’s late last night to watch the tennis. While we jumped up and down on the sofa willing Federer to win, they jumped through sprinklers on the lawn, swam in the pool and played baseball in the garden, until half past ten. All very good fun, but less fun when they still wake up at the crack of dawn.
Anyway, minutes ago there was a ring on the doorbell. I leaned out of the window to see an elegant young Emirati woman outside.
“Who lives here?” she enquired. My first thought was ‘oh WHAT NOW? Are they being driven mad by Leo playing ‘Old MacDonald had a farm’ 18 hours a day? Welcome to my world I would have told her. Or maybe it is a spy, sent on behalf of our landlady to check up on us? Do they want us to park somewhere else so they can accommodate their fleet of Hummers?
Anyway I stomped down the stairs to see what the beautiful stranger wanted. I opened the door. She smiled then handed me candle wrapped in glittery net.
“I have come to invite you to my sister’s wedding,” she said. “It’s the day after tomorrow.”
I was speechless. And cross with myself. And extremely touched. I ascertained that it is a women only event and I can wear what I like. Although I think I will avoid fuscia pink. A friend of mine wore that to one of the Sheikha’s weddings and said she stood out like a sore thumb.
I may go for black like everyone else, but whatever I wear I promise to think of the glass as half full instead of half empty in future. Even if it is only filled with fruit juice, which is certainly going to be the case come Monday.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009