literature

An Early Christmas Wish.

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Literature Text

The sacred vows of marriage, to my mind, don’t exactly cover everything – but by the time I discovered the awful truth and change that opened up within this sanctity, it was too late. For instance, the promise to endure ‘in sickness and in health’ is somewhat ambiguous. I mean baldness, a paunch, bad wind, and an overdose of sloth are not exactly ‘sickness’ and if anyone thinks they are, I maintain they go way beyond that classification.

The baldness, I blamed on a genetic fault. It wasn’t down to my husband John, it was down his father. I think maybe the paunch was as well. I almost felt inclined to write a letter of complaint to his dad – the obese, bald old git – because throughout his married life, after the initial wedding photos, he had refused to have his photograph taken any more. Therefore I had no warning as to how his son would turn out and John, apparently, ‘hadn’t thought to mention his dad’s appearance in latter years.’ Well that’s men for you.What more can I say? I mean if my father or mother were bald with paunches, I definitely would have mentioned it.

These changes of John’s were synonymous with a mid-life crisis, so the hair loss and paunch only added to his anxiety – and mine too – I might add. John lost his confidence, started biting his nails and retired early, leaving me to be the breadwinner. He became somewhat childlike and wanted me to give him lots of cuddles, which I struggled with because my arms would not reach around his expanding waist and tummy, so feeling an unmet need for affection, he wrote to his mum and dad in Australia asking them to visit, but his dad wrote back saying he was ‘too big’ to fit on plane seats now and that his mum was too old and nervous to travel alone. He sent John a photo instead, and that was how I found out how much John took after his dad looks-wise.

And the bad wind? – well I really don’t feel inclined to elaborate on this. It was not a genetic fault – not to my knowledge – but a pastime. A hobby if you like, along with John’s stamp collecting, which was one of John’s all consuming passions. If John could have materialized his farts into sticky squares and stuck them in a book, he would have been ecstatic.

Finally sloth – which basically accompanied John’s paunch and general weight gain. He no longer felt the inclination to bunjee jump from the shed roof or race around the block at 5 am in the morning or even to bend over and pick up a jam doughnut that he’d dropped. No indeed, the remote control to the television exercised his fingers – well a couple of them anyway – and that was it, whereas I practiced yoga and went to zumba to retain my figure. John never commented on my absence to attend these exercise classes but then I think he was in denial of such energetic pursuits even existing

But there’s worse to come, apart from all of the aforementioned, which related to the physical there was something else. A thing which had plagued me even since the early years of our marriage and indeed with any relationships I’d had prior to that.

Communication!

Thing is, I always seemed to be on a different wavelength to just about everyone else, particularly men and I nod or say ‘yes’ through life, inviting some very dubious situations indeed. I can have a conversation with my husband or any male come to that – ostensibly about a brussels sprout - and find out many days later that we were discussing nuclear war arms. That’s how bad the communication gap is. Also I noticed that often when I am speaking and trying to address my husband’s decline in looks and bad habits, he just doesn’t acknowledge me at all. All of my verbal efforts were in one ear, out the other – not that there was much to interfere with their transit.

My best friend, Gladys, who has no such communication problems, did suggest I put a fish in my ear and no, she is not insane, just remembering information gleaned from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Apparently Babel fish have the power to instantly translate. Thing is, I hate fish and where would I get a babel fish? I suppose I could try a trout or a goldfish, but somehow I reckon I don’t have much hope of achieving anything other than a fishy-smelling ear.

So I decided to make my Christmas wish list a little earlier than usual, and hopefully Santa or the Universe would see favorably towards giving me that which I desire. There is only one item on the list and no – I am not wishing for a new husband and even to recondition or recycle the old one – all I want is a magical elf skilled in communication problems. One that interprets fairly rapidly just where your Significant Other is coming from.

Looks-wise, I envisaged a Dobby-type elf. You know the one from Harry Potter only smaller. Yes, just a very small handbag-sized elf who, in addition to residence in my actual handbag, can discreetly hide behind cushions or pose as an ornament, whilst listening to various conversations that leave me clueless – then feeding back the true meaning of these via some unobtrusive method, preferably telepathic.

I had, of course, tried to find such an elf myself and found myself looking on ebay or in pound shops. But surprise surprise, no bloomin’ Dobby-type elves! I thought they had everything on ebay and in pound shops. Perhaps they don’t exist?

But if they do exist I’m sure Santa will bring me one. Hopefully earlier than Christmas and my way of thinking, is that as Halloween is imminent, there are lots of magical vibes about and they could well hasten the appearance of my desired gift.

John doesn’t know about my wish of course. I’m going to surprise him. I posted the wish up the chimney a few days ago and soon, soon...you never know...

….................................................

A week has passed since I posted my wish and yesterday my elf materialized in the living room, What a shock! He was not the Dobby-type elf I had wished for. Curse Santa! I reckon there may have been some bad vibes in the air.

This elf had nothing going for him. He was follically challenged, had a large paunch and released a vast amount of bad wind that had me choking and gasping for breath.

I looked across at John sitting on the settee opposite my armchair and informed him that there was a flatulent elf in the room, but John either didn’t hear me or had decided to ignore me. Meanwhile, the elf had gone into the kitchen, raided the fridge and had returned with a plateful of goodies which he proceeded chomp in front of me, whilst watching the television seated beside John on the settee.

It was too much. Waving my arms and burbling incoherently I tried to distract either the elf or my husband, but they were glued to some horror film or other and someone was about to get dismembered. Eventually after I screamed an obscenity, the elf finally looked towards me on the opposite side of the room. I tried to have a conversation with him but he was speaking gobbledegook. I could not understand a single word.

It was at that point I wept and seeing my distress, the elf got up from settee and gave me a little book of stamps he’d collected, perhaps to compensate for my disappointment in him.

Meanwhile, John remained oblivious and caught up in his own little man-world dominated by the tv and its remote control. Both the elf and my husband were smiling and I noticed that John now had his arm wrapped around the elf’s small shoulders in a comradely sort of way.

The person on the horror film had been cut into tiny pieces and placed in bin bags – a woman about my age I think – some old hag who’d been nagging her husband for ages.











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Zorbonaut's avatar
Against all logic, watching you bitch and moan about unattractive guys never gets old.
(BTW that last line is a killer! Just brilliant!)