A holiday in Greece

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Mum’s gone off the wall, if you ask me.  For years and years she has been going on about how I can tell her everything; ‘and I mean EVERYTHING!’ she’d say in capitals.  And then when I tell her that I’m off to Greece with Harry this summer she went absolutely ballistic.  Well, that was after I explained that we had booked into a hotel; one room; one bed.

              ‘You are too young!  Have you thought about contraception?’

              ‘We have Mum.  I’m on the Pill.’

              ‘So you’ve…’

              ‘Done it, Mum.  Yes, we have.’

‘How long have you been on it?’

‘For just over two months, and it really works well with me.’

              ‘I hope so.  And have you thought about sexually transmitted diseases?  How do you know he is not infected with some horrible disease?’

              ‘We’ve been to the Family planning clinic, together.  It is really ok, Mum.’

              ‘Well, I think you are too young for this type of thing.  How do you know that Harry doesn’t take advantage of you?  You’re too young, Emma.  You’ll regret this.  Your father and I waited till we were very sure that we wanted to commit ourselves in a responsible relationship.  I didn’t hop into bed with the first boy who smiled at me!’

              And she went on for what seemed like hours.  About commitment and faithfulness, marriage and used goods, about what the neighbours would say.  Not once did she ask whether Harry and I loved each other.  I think she was afraid to ask.

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