The Royal We

This week saw the Queen (of the United Kingdom and the blah blah) visit Ireland for the first time in living memory. Or my memory, at least. It all went splendidly. The old girl made a big effort to heal old wounds and even spouted a few words of Irish (known in the newspapers as ‘Gaelic’). She even sat through bloody Riverdance with a straight face. Nice one the Queen. We are not amused, but we are most certainly pleased.

This Segways me nicely (at a slow rolling pace) onto my actual topic, the use of “we” by people in relationships. You know what I mean. You ask a workmate “so what are you doing at the weekend?” And the answer will begin with “Well, we are…”

Hold it there, big boy. I didn’t ask what you plural are doing, I asked what YOU are doing. As in, you yourself. Why do I have to get an answer that includes a person I might not even know? It’s like you asked me what my plans were and I decide to inform you about the weekend plans of a nine-year old boy in Perth.

And tell me this. At what point in a relationship do a great many people stop seeing themselves as individuals? Does it creep up on them, or is it a conscious decision? Is it around the same time they get a shared email address? And start going to the gym in pairs? And start sending out Christmas cards with a photo of them both grinning like morons? Maybe somebody can explain.

I could also go into the practice of using photos of your offspring as your Facebook profile pic, and of informing the world on an hourly basis how much porridge little Glen threw on the floor this morning. I won’t though, because then you’ll all think I’m a baby-hater and a grumpy old bastard. Whereas I’m not. Babies are lovely. Asleep.

Now where’s those fuckin’ slippers and me best pipe.

/ paddy

Advertisements