Thursday, 29 December 2011

worse than Internet dating.

Okay. I admit to dating on the Internet in my single days. One day I might blog about 'battered hamburger boy' or 'nipple clamp boy', but we all know the longing: both physical and emotional,that accompanies a first meeting.

Okay, now ramp up that anxiety by about a gazillion.

The Husbang and I had only 3 days between the first time we heard her name and the first meeting.

All you women out there? You know how you want to look JUST right for that first meeting?

yeah. That shit aint got NOTHING on meeting your daughter for the first time.

Add the interracial element, as in 'has she ever actually SEEN a white person before?", and the fear factor ramps up a few thousand notches more.

Do I wear perfume (I am a Lanvin type)?, do I wear makeup? Do I bring gifts?

Husbang is the strong, silent, resilient English git type, who stood by calmly as I got myself more and more in a state.

"fuckity fuck fuck, she's going to hate me", I start screaming as I am getting dressed.

"Well. yes" replies Husbang, 'if you show up naked and talking like that".

I'd been on the interwebz, desperately looking for ideas. Like how to meet a 4 y/o from a remote village in the Highlands of PNG and not freak her the fuck out.

Can you see the headlines?:

"angry feminNazi blogger wears floral and rouge. Freaks outs orphan in Goroka with Tickle Me Elmo"

It's PNG. That shit could happen here.

I settled on a pair of cargo pants, a linen shirt, sensible shoes (Husbang vetoed the wearing of my Skunk Anansie boots) and eyeliner.

Agan, for those into detail, I wore Arpege and took an innocuous fluff teddy bear christened Puddin'.

It's a 5 hour drive to Goroka, home of Mudmen and Highland violence. It's another 9 hour drive to where Vo'p had been living.

On arriving in Goroka, we found out she and her escort were running 2 hours late.

So for those 2 interminably long hours I sat (without alcohol) and fretted. Husbang, who has the patience of a glacier just quietly held my hand and whispered that it was going to be alright.

And then she was here.

In the rather fancy restaurant of the Goroka Bird of Paradise Hotel, a child who'd been raised in a pig pen in a remote village in the Highlands of PNG, met us.

The first thing I noticed were her eyes. Impossibly huge and ringed with lashes that would make a supermodel envious.

Everything else, the Kwashiorkor's the protruberant stomach, the intestinal worms.. that all came later.

But for that first second I was captivated by her eyes.

And, I'm sure having been coached on the long PMV trip to town, she ran towards me and threw herself into my arms and my heart.

I was now Vo'P's Mom.


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