User:Orian57/12 Days of Cristmas/Day Three
It’s just two days. It’s just two days. It’s just two days. It’s just two days. In fact if you think about it it’s really just a day and a half. A day if you take away sleeping time. It’s just one day. It’s just one day. It’s just one day…
The door opens to my step-mother disapproving of me.
“You’re late.”
Christmas day traffic! Four hour drive! “Yes, sorry. It was umm…” She simply stares, not inviting me in. I shuffle awkwardly awaiting permission to enter. You’re not my real mother. You don’t own me. I can do what ever the fuck I want you she-male. You’re being unreasonable. This is child abuse!
“It’s a bit chilly.” I say, half lifting my bag of presents.
“Manners, absolutely none.” She says turning her back on me and disappearing into the house. I sniff in the last truly fresh air I’m likely to smell for some time, only to have it spoilt by farming manure.
The whole extended family is in the dining room exchanging and opening presents. Laughing jovially at a racist joke dad just told for the fifteenth consecutive year. I manage to sit down in a dark corner hoping he hasn’t noticed me yet; though when am I ever that lucky?
“Oh it’s David. Glad you could join us, at last.” The table falls silent and looks at me.
“Oh um yeah, Christmas traffic and all…”
“Yeah and I bet you stuck to the speed limit too. Honestly boy, did I teach you nothing? You gotta make the road yours!” Yes that’s what I should have got you: a digitally re-mastered Top Gear box set with a toothbrush moustache and your head replacing Jeremy Clarkson.
“I did speed a little.” I offer in consolation.
“Oh really? What, did you do six in a car park?” The table erupts with laughter. I’m going to be sick. Sick with embarrassment. Is embarrassed sick pink? Just to add insult to injury.
“Let’s just exchange presents, please?” I say pulling the hastily wrapped box out of my sack. The box gets passed up the table as apprehensive eyes follow it and scornful-in-advance eyes dart towards me.
I take a glance at my sister, Barb, and her husband, Jill, hoping against hope they don’t recognise the gift. She’d probably shoot me again -- worse he’ll be so upset he’ll cry until May. I feel sorry for him; she probably owns at least one strap-on. Can you wear two strap-ons at once?
“Drill heads.” He says, not with surprise or even false-gratitude. “In what possible world could I make use of a power tool accessory kit?”
“I- I just thought because you’re retiring soon…”
“Hey isn’t that what me and Jill got you for your birthday?” She may as well have said fe-fi-fo-fum. She is actually gonna kill me, she’s gonna kill me and use my ribs to pick turkey out of her massive teeth. Fuck.
None of the other presents go down well either. The CD’s are all received with a less than sincere smile followed by a mocking quip: “Mariah Carey, oh did you start handing out your CD collection.”; “Avril Lavigne, I suppose this is where you got your morality? I can’t let her listen to this”; “Yay! A Frisbee!”
The bed linen is received with such ice it might have shattered like crystal if she dropped it.
Then I see Mr step-brother, Dean. He’s not twelve. He’s sitting with his underdressed-for-the-occasion girlfriend. Is she pregnant or just malnourished? Well might as well get this over with. Just rip it of like waxing your pits. I mean not that I do that. Because it’s still socially acceptable for a straight man to have hairy underarms. Isn’t it? Maybe I should start; Gerry’ll have something I can use…
“Just don’t even. I don’t want to know what you’ve bought me.”
Oh shit, what do I do now? Is this a test? Maybe he really does want a Ben 10 DVD. I sort of have to give it to him. Especially after the girl behind the counter put so much thought into it for me. If I see her again I’d have to apologise.
“Please just take it. I mean you’re gonna be a dad soon aren’t you?”
“Wot is it!? Did fatty just call me fat? I aint eaten in six days cos I knew I was coming here and I aint gonna take this!” She casually slaps Dean across the face and leaves with more than necessary banging.
“Must have been her period.” I say; just to make things worse.
Christmas has become my prison. I don’t want to be here; they don’t want me here; but I can’t leave. That’d be rude.
Instead I put up with the snide comments over turkey and Dean snapping Christmas crackers in my face in an attempt at blinding me. However changing the channel and annoying me while I watch Dr Who is one thing I almost won’t tolerate.