The toils of Weasley-hood.
Being a fastidious worker at the Ministry does come with its price. Often, I do not have time for socialisation, nor do I have time to squeeze in all of the research I would like in my free time. However, I feel the work pays off. It is an excellent position in the Ministry, and I am doing something important with my life.
That aside, this Friday I had the afternoon free, oddly enough, and went out to dinner with Miss Penelope Clearwater (a friend from the Ministry). Our parents were both in attendance, and a meal that could have gone spectacularly wrong nearly did.
Miss Clearwater and I had arranged with both of our parental guardians in advance to meet us at Les Batons d'Ors at eight p.m. Naturally, my mother and father arrived at eight-thirty, because the family clock did not say "dinner" yet.
Once my parents had finally arrived to find me suitably embarrassed (the Clearwaters were ever so good about this, which is unsurprising), we somehow managed to keep our reservations, and actually made it to the table sans mishaps.
From there, my mother began commenting upon Miss Clearwater's hair; asking her how she kept it so--I believe the words were--"full" and "lively." As you can imagine, I was literally tempted to crawl beneath the table. However, I am a man of dignity, and not even the most undignified of relatives can stir such an indignant response out of my dignity.
Mrs Clearwater, who is a professor in a Muggle university (as you may or may not know, Penelope is Muggle-born), began discussing her thesis on Agricultural Excercises to me over the hors d'Oeuvres. Her thesis, I might add, sounded absolutely fascinating. Did you know that corn is best grown under a pavillion while playing Bach's French Suite? I did not.
However, my father chose to cut in at that point to relate a story about the gnomes in our garden. He then asked Mr Clearwater if Muggle garden gnomes were as hard to get rid of.
I feel there is no need to add the fact that my father continued in this manner for the better portion of the evening. He inquired about "refrogerathers", "sinny mas", and "East Enders" (whatever that may be). Mr Clearwater was most polite in answering my father's questions, but I fear what the Clearwaters must think of me now.
My only consolation is the fact that Mr and Mrs Clearwater are Muggles, and do not work for the Ministry. I would hate to think what would happen if any of this got back to Mr Fudge. In any case, my mother seemed to deem it best to act demurely, which I appreciate, but I found myself wondering if she'd taken some sort of sedative potion before coming.
Miss Clearwater, I apologise on behalf of my parents.
That aside, this Friday I had the afternoon free, oddly enough, and went out to dinner with Miss Penelope Clearwater (a friend from the Ministry). Our parents were both in attendance, and a meal that could have gone spectacularly wrong nearly did.
Miss Clearwater and I had arranged with both of our parental guardians in advance to meet us at Les Batons d'Ors at eight p.m. Naturally, my mother and father arrived at eight-thirty, because the family clock did not say "dinner" yet.
Once my parents had finally arrived to find me suitably embarrassed (the Clearwaters were ever so good about this, which is unsurprising), we somehow managed to keep our reservations, and actually made it to the table sans mishaps.
From there, my mother began commenting upon Miss Clearwater's hair; asking her how she kept it so--I believe the words were--"full" and "lively." As you can imagine, I was literally tempted to crawl beneath the table. However, I am a man of dignity, and not even the most undignified of relatives can stir such an indignant response out of my dignity.
Mrs Clearwater, who is a professor in a Muggle university (as you may or may not know, Penelope is Muggle-born), began discussing her thesis on Agricultural Excercises to me over the hors d'Oeuvres. Her thesis, I might add, sounded absolutely fascinating. Did you know that corn is best grown under a pavillion while playing Bach's French Suite? I did not.
However, my father chose to cut in at that point to relate a story about the gnomes in our garden. He then asked Mr Clearwater if Muggle garden gnomes were as hard to get rid of.
I feel there is no need to add the fact that my father continued in this manner for the better portion of the evening. He inquired about "refrogerathers", "sinny mas", and "East Enders" (whatever that may be). Mr Clearwater was most polite in answering my father's questions, but I fear what the Clearwaters must think of me now.
My only consolation is the fact that Mr and Mrs Clearwater are Muggles, and do not work for the Ministry. I would hate to think what would happen if any of this got back to Mr Fudge. In any case, my mother seemed to deem it best to act demurely, which I appreciate, but I found myself wondering if she'd taken some sort of sedative potion before coming.
Miss Clearwater, I apologise on behalf of my parents.