This is possibly one of the greatest social curses you can inflict upon a child (after red hair, an Irish accent or a name like Richard Phlop). The family friend will always wait in a corner expecting you to remember them and then feel gravely insulted when you fail to put a name to the vaguely familiar face in front of you in less time than it takes them to tell you that they've known you since you were this big (always being slightly lower than their hip). And this is the ones that you keep in contact with, that you see every couple of days. Invariably however you will meet the more insidious family friend - the friend of grandparents. These are the ones who don't live anywhere near you, don't remember which one you are (despite being six or seven years older than the other one) and insist that you've grown at least 4 inches (10cm for those non ancient people out there who make up most of the Interwebs) despite not having grown for the last few years due to the fact that you're now over 25.
If you're unlucky you will see this particular species once a year, for granny's birthday. If you're exceptionally unlucky or you've irritated more than a few leprechauns in your time, they will live near your grand parents and so you will see them every few months shortly after you make the arduous 6.5 hour odyssey, crammed in the back of the non airconditioned car that your dad has decided isn't quite broken enough to warrant a new one, when all you really want to do is either find a small dark corner and rock back and forward like you're suffering withdrawal, or find a wealthy person to adopt you and ensure that you never have to deal with 80's mix tapes again. That is when this most cunning of beasts will strike.
"How's school going (great, I wish I was there right this very instant)... I knew you when you were this big (that's because you knew my parents when they were that big too)... Do you remember me (yes, is there a way that can be changed?)..." and on it goes. You can't get a word in edgewise though so they just yammer on about how good it is to see you and how their second cousins nephew has just got his first job and how Mrs Betty Stein (you know her, from Brightly, her son babysat you once when you were 3, remember) just got a cataract out again and it's about time she started looking after herself, she's not 93 anymore you know. All this leads up the inevitable finale, "Do you have a girlfriend yet, you're getting old". The appropriate answer to this of course is "No I don't. All of the girls I know get scared off when they find out that I spent half of my Christmas holidays being talked at by a seventy year old with rheumatoid halitosis"
Don't try to complain about it either because parents are in on this too. "She's just interested in you (I wish she wasn't)... well just talk to him (about what? he only wants to talk about arthritis treatments)... It's only for a little while (you can die in less than a second; a week is a long time)... - or my personal favourite - just be nice, it isn't often they get to see young people (because they're old, they're not supposed to see young people)"
The only way that this can be made worse is by adding both a large group, and a few people of your own age who all know each other. This means that you're stuck wandering around trying to fend off vicious comments regarding your young age or your above average IQ unable to escape into the only possible place that there is to hide because the second you try, all conversation in the circle ceases and eight pairs of slowly narrowing eyes all point at you.
You gravitate to the back wall and look around at everyone you do know at the party (your siblings, next to you counting bricks, or your parents, easily mingling with all their old friends from before time began) and then compare this small number with the number of people of you don't know (all of whom are happy and laughing, except the fat guy with arthritis and rheumatoid halitosis who wants to talk to you about your Great Aunt Ethel). You realise that this is like a school reunion for your parents - you shouldn't be there.
Just in case you detected no hint of sarcasm here, I'll warn you, there was a bit; it's the only way that I can talk about this with out running to a small dark corner and rocking back and forth like I'm suffering witdrawal.
If you're unlucky you will see this particular species once a year, for granny's birthday. If you're exceptionally unlucky or you've irritated more than a few leprechauns in your time, they will live near your grand parents and so you will see them every few months shortly after you make the arduous 6.5 hour odyssey, crammed in the back of the non airconditioned car that your dad has decided isn't quite broken enough to warrant a new one, when all you really want to do is either find a small dark corner and rock back and forward like you're suffering withdrawal, or find a wealthy person to adopt you and ensure that you never have to deal with 80's mix tapes again. That is when this most cunning of beasts will strike.
"How's school going (great, I wish I was there right this very instant)... I knew you when you were this big (that's because you knew my parents when they were that big too)... Do you remember me (yes, is there a way that can be changed?)..." and on it goes. You can't get a word in edgewise though so they just yammer on about how good it is to see you and how their second cousins nephew has just got his first job and how Mrs Betty Stein (you know her, from Brightly, her son babysat you once when you were 3, remember) just got a cataract out again and it's about time she started looking after herself, she's not 93 anymore you know. All this leads up the inevitable finale, "Do you have a girlfriend yet, you're getting old". The appropriate answer to this of course is "No I don't. All of the girls I know get scared off when they find out that I spent half of my Christmas holidays being talked at by a seventy year old with rheumatoid halitosis"
Don't try to complain about it either because parents are in on this too. "She's just interested in you (I wish she wasn't)... well just talk to him (about what? he only wants to talk about arthritis treatments)... It's only for a little while (you can die in less than a second; a week is a long time)... - or my personal favourite - just be nice, it isn't often they get to see young people (because they're old, they're not supposed to see young people)"
The only way that this can be made worse is by adding both a large group, and a few people of your own age who all know each other. This means that you're stuck wandering around trying to fend off vicious comments regarding your young age or your above average IQ unable to escape into the only possible place that there is to hide because the second you try, all conversation in the circle ceases and eight pairs of slowly narrowing eyes all point at you.
You gravitate to the back wall and look around at everyone you do know at the party (your siblings, next to you counting bricks, or your parents, easily mingling with all their old friends from before time began) and then compare this small number with the number of people of you don't know (all of whom are happy and laughing, except the fat guy with arthritis and rheumatoid halitosis who wants to talk to you about your Great Aunt Ethel). You realise that this is like a school reunion for your parents - you shouldn't be there.
Just in case you detected no hint of sarcasm here, I'll warn you, there was a bit; it's the only way that I can talk about this with out running to a small dark corner and rocking back and forth like I'm suffering witdrawal.