Everyone Deserves a Dianne
A story for my rock ’n roll mother-in-law
For Christmas last year, my mother-in-law asked for a story
I had given her a particularly crap homemade gift — a photo frame with two crooked photos from my wedding day and the word ‘FAMIL Y’, written just like that.
After we’d finished laughing about my lack of crafting skills, she made her request:
“You write so well. Can you please write a story about a fun time we’ve shared?”
Thing is, I think I can do one better than that. I have so many stories about Dianne — Di, to those who love her.
Which is everyone.
The coolest woman alive
I first met Di nearly ten years ago. It was such an auspicious occasion, I still remember what I wore: a floor length velvet dress that looked like it was made out of a (very unfortunate) snow leopard, a spiky green collar, and matching green sandals.
I remember how my feet squelched in the sandals, summer heat and nerves conspiring against me. Paul — my now-husband, then brand-new boyfriend — casually mentioned that he’d never introduced a girlfriend to his mother before.
