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Okay, so I went to dinner with my father and his wife the other day and, as expected it was surreal.

I don’t know where to start to paint the picture for you without making this too long and boring.

We went to the place where – as I was told several times- the lobster is not expensive. A few of their friends joined us at the table. Whenever I am with my father and his friends I feel like I am in the front row of a theater. The women are dressed in garish clothes and heavily hung with gigantic jewelry, make up thick as putty and many of them not unknown to plastic surgery. Everyone is drinking like a fish and the conversation mostly revolves around, let’s say, not real live problems and mostly dirty jokes and racy nonsense.

This is not my world, it has never been and those are not my kind of people, never have been. I grew up with this kind of company around my father and I am used to it yet it never stops to amaze me.

All that taken with the knowledge of my father not helping me in any way since I had to rearrange my entire life and not helping me in many ways ever before. He was not there for me in my childhood and he was not there for me later, he did not raise me nor teach me nor has he any idea what it means to be a father and what it means to take responsibility.

The last advice he gave me was to go to social services for help and now I am sitting at a table where the 4th bottle of red wine – each worth 150€ -is boozed and crawfish is ordered and they show each other their latest Rolex, compare the diameters of said watches and handmade jewelry ( I am not kidding nor exaggerating). I can only sit there and watch the spectacle.

Another thing I have to explain is that my father’s wife is attending a „ladie’s crackerbarrel“ they founded. Meaning a group of women meets every Friday at 2 in the afternoon and drink each other under the table. One of the ladies is the president (the president was with us on the table that evening) and my father’s wife is the „amusement minister“. Yes I am serious. So obviously my father’s wife tried to get some of her friends accepted to the crackerbarrel in the past and „the president“ rejected and told her they had a „freeze on admissions“. So some time after the 4th bottle of red wine and a little bit of Moscow Mule in between the president told me of all people to joint their crackerbarrel on Fridays and that I am already a member and I cannot refuse. Holy shit!

The funny part about this is: When my father’s wife heard that she acted like I had just been elected first female pope! Please believe me, she could not have reacted differently if I had shown her the Piscatory Ring and asked her to kiss it. She just couldn’t believe that the president had allowed me into their circle. She went completely crazy about that. Well fortunately I have to work on Fridays at 2 PM.

Are you kidding me? I am not able to afford a new sofa at Ikea or new curtains for all my windows and you really get exited about me coming to your group of loaded women drinking champagne until they drop, talking about their next holiday, their next Rolex and where to get the 150€ wine bottle for 100€?!

The next bizarre situation was my father’s behavior. Quick reminder: When we met again after almost one year he did not want to talk about anything that had happened. He just wanted to „start fresh“ and that means for me pretend nothing had ever happened. In fact that’s what I did my entire life with him because otherwise I would not be ale to even look him in the face. I agreed to see him again mostly because I think my daughter should know her grandfather and meet him from time to time.

So now I had agreed to come with them this evening and my father was as drunk as everybody else or maybe even a little bit more and he did not stop telling these people stuff like „I have my daughter back“ and „I can feel it in my heart, I have my daughter back“ and all those drunk people kept telling me „your father is so proud of you“ and „your father is such a good guy“ yes, of course he is.

Please do not misunderstand me: I am not jealous. The discrepancy between all this and offering me an old Persian carpet makes me feel mocked. It might be okay to refuse to give me one single penny but it is not okay to rub your lifestyle in my face at the same time. At least now I know what their next holiday destination is going to be in May.

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