Gemma Cartwright writes...
Like many people, I spent the Easter weekend with my family. I always moan about these mini reunions before they happen - the fact I will be judged on my hair, my weight, my outfit, my job, my lack of significant other - but most of that's for show. The truth is, I have an amazing family and I really shouldn't be complaining. Even when my brother pokes fun at my outfit or my mother tells me yet again that she prefers me as a blonde, I always have a good time...
But then, we are so clichéd it's nauseating. We're like a family out of a 1950s instructional film. Parents still happily married. Older son, younger daughter, both happy and successful, living the dream in London. Mom and dad living fairly blissfully in a small but perfectly formed house in a picturesque village with a big garden and a pond full of fish (in lieu of a dog - mom hates them). It's so nice and middle-England that it makes me want to vomit a little bit. But then I think about it properly, and I realise I want it for myself one day. Even the fish.
I am a carbon copy of my mother. So much so that this weekend my aunt did a double take when I came into the room, thinking I was mom. My brother is more like dad, yet somehow we look like each other as well. Both of us have inherited dad's sense of humour, his love of music and his drive and determination. I got all of mom's serious streak, but (as much as it would pain my brother to admit it) we share the sensibleness. The worry gene has yet to show its ugly face, but I know it will. Sadly that one's reserved for the women of the family, so I pity the man who ends up with me.
Which leads me to that old saying. A daddy's girl is destined to end up with a man just like her father. Now, I wouldn't necessarily say I'm a daddy's girl (I love my mom too much) but I definitely think my dad is the best, and thanks to his chivalry (he still opens doors for me, carries my bags, listens to me whine and brings me chocolate when I'm feeling crap) I do have high expectations. So does this mean I'm going to end up with tall, well-built man who's chivalrous, overly sarcastic, surprisingly artistic, hilarious when he wants to be and infuriating when he (frequently) doesn't listen?
Probably.
What do you think? Have your parents set the example or made you realise you want more?
