Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber by Adele Lang

Author:Adele Lang
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466872196
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

PART III

1 March

Saturday

This afternoon, whilst my face was being stripped with fruit acids and smothered in sheep’s membranes, another Katya entered this world.

I wished I could have been there for her ungainly, rather amateurish debut but, like I said to a frantically puffing and panting Angel when I hauled her, her overnight bag and my camcorder out on to the pavement outside the hospital early this morning, I’d really prefer not to witness 12 hours of natural labour for I suspect it might be enough to put me off men for life – and I really don’t need any more help in that department.

Besides, I didn’t want to miss my facial and I figured I could always catch the birth on video later.

Of course, since I was the only friend brave enough to attempt to squeeze a 13-stone woman into a Honda Civic hatchback at the risk of her waters breaking over my pristine grey upholstery, I did make Angel promise she’d name her newborn child after me, regardless of its sex. (Was secretly hoping for a boy so yet another member of the male species could be the subject of constant ridicule, thanks to yours truly.)

2 March

Sunday

Armed with cigars, champers and a non-gender-specific toy monster I found in my cornflakes box at breakfast, head for public maternity ward to visit my godchild and namesake.

Its mother looks a complete wreck and makes me feel a mite guilty about intentionally appearing at my glamorous best. Angel hands me little Katya who, in promising protégée form, starts screaming blue murder. Promptly hand the bawling bundle back to Angel, declaring it looks just like her, though to be honest it’s actually the spitting image of Bogie Boy – albeit with less hair and more conversation.

When I then sarcastically ask, through narrowed eyes and between puffs on my Cuban, where the other proud parent is, Angel bursts into a spasm of post-natal sobs and says he’s gone on a three-day bender with all his brain-dead friends.

3 March

Monday

Go to supermarket to stock up on biros because I refuse to sign copies of my forthcoming tome using my expensive Mont Blanc refills. Oddly enough, not once do I harbour feelings of ill-will towards the tearaway toddlers that always seem to get themselves trapped between the wheels of my trolley. I must be feeling broody.

Of course, when I arrive at the check-out and proceed to get ticked off by a sullen teen for going through the express lane with 80 individual pens, biological clock stops again. A good thing, really, I later think to myself as I climb into my bed alone for the umpteenth night in a row, given that immaculate conception only ever seems to happen to virgins.

4 March

Tuesday

Today, after checking the condom vending machine that doubles as my purse, I realise that not one of the 48 items inside is missing – despite the fact I restocked well over two weeks ago.1

Eliza arrives bang in the middle of my romantic stocktake and very patronisingly offers to set me up with one of her RAC beau’s work colleagues.

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