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Calamitous Christmas by Ruth Ainley

Yes, ladies, it’s Christmas.  Rosy-cheeked children play in the snow, carollers sing in The Square and happy hours are spent in the bosom of your family.  Right…

November finds you spring-cleaning the house.  Why?  Well, your mother has invited herself to stay for Christmas…and New Year…and, very likely, Valentine’s Day.  But is this your main concern?  Nope.  Your main concern is that your mother does not come alone – she comes complete with dust-finding index finger and if there is one speck of dust left in the entire house, she’ll find it…even if it is down the back of a radiator.

December arrives and you send hubby off to buy the Christmas tree.  Now don’t ask me why but, for some reason, testosterone and pine trees seem inextricably linked.   Yes, the bigger the tree the more macho the average male feels – and hubby feels especially macho when he rolls into the drive and is mounting a major operation to remove a seven-foot tree from his Mini while your neighbour drags a three-foot specimen off the back seat of his Volvo…

Two days before Christmas and your mother has arrived or, to put it in hubby’s parlance, ‘The Eagle Has Landed’.  Now, to say they’re not exactly bosom buddies would be an understatement.  She’s just walked in the door and already they’re eyeing each other with distrust and mild hatred.  But you don’t mind.  Nope – this year you got organised.  This year you went to the doctor and got enough Valium and Prozac to dope a herd of elephants never mind dull your senses for a fortnight…

Christmas Day arrives; peace and goodwill to all men…and then your mother totters downstairs looking like the Queen Mum, complete with handbag.  And as she looks scathingly at your embroidered jeans and diamante encrusted T-shirt she asks when you’re going to change into ‘something tidy’.  And you grind your teeth as you assure her that your stilettos and posh frock will make an appearance for lunch…much like your brother-in-law.

For no Christmas would be complete without the brother-in-law from Hell.  As he pops into the kitchen – complete with mistletoe – he has a momentary bout of amnesia and forgets just which brother you married.  But one stiletto heel placed discreetly on top of his foot soon jogs his memory...

Lunch, and as you sit at the table you breathe a sigh of relief – until your son announces that his girlfriend is vegetarian.  OK.  No problem.  You’ve got a nut roast in the freezer.  Then your daughter announces she’s turned vegan.  Fine, she can have the whole bowl of sprouts all to herself.  And your brother-in-law says he’s on a low-fat diet.  Tough. 

As the meal draws to a close your mother excuses herself and you pop out to make coffee – and find her running a finger along the top of the dado rail in the hall...

Later, you surprise hubby with a box of his favourite chocolates – Hazelnut Whirls.  But they’re also your mother’s favourite sweet, albeit she can’t chew the hazelnuts with her dentures.  One hour later a lone Hazelnut Whirl languishes in the box and as hubby makes a sudden grab for it your mother moves with lightning speed and beats him to it, smiling smugly as she tips the little sweet into her hand.  Hubby glowers.  Several minutes later, as your mother rattles the little hazelnut round her dentures hubby snaps and, in a fit of pique, stomps off to the loo or, as you’ve renamed it, The Respite Room. 

As a chilly silence descends upon the sitting room your daughter suggests some calming music.  And as your brother-in-law takes the seat so recently vacated by your hubby (his roving eye landing upon your son’s girlfriend as his roving hand alights upon your thigh) the CD player whirs into life.  And suddenly the sound of whale song fills the room…. at this point you escape to the kitchen for a Valium and Prozac Smoothie – your third that day (but who’s counting?). 

Evening arrives and as you close the door to the last of your guests you heave a sigh of relief.  But as you turn from the door you find your mother tottering towards you, feather duster in hand.  And you watch, dumbfounded, as she reaches up to the corner and removes the only cobweb in the house.

“It’s been annoying me all day,” she croaks before tottering back along the hall.

And you almost choke as you bite back the words, “I know the feeling…”