Twas’ the night before Christmas
And all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring
…. Except for my mother yelling at me.
Ok, so it was the afternoon before Christmas. And probably plenty of people were stirring, as it were – because really, who isn’t still stirring at five o’clock in the afternoon?
I’d arrived at my mother’s after getting off of work.
“You couldn’t find a swimsuit?”
Not hi. Not hello. Not, ‘How was your day?’
Pulling a face, I unbuttoned the trench coat I had worn that day and dropped it on the chair by the door. The trench coat, I had decided earlier, was a perfectly reasonable choice, considering the thermometer hovered around fifty that day and I didn’t have to walk anywhere in the cold.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I am wrong about many things, as my Mother never hesitates to tell me.
A few anecdotes, dear reader:
I bought a new skirt last week. A pretty blue velvet one that ends just above the knee. I remember twirling in the mirror at the store.
I should not have asked my mother what she thought. Repeat: I should not.
I should’ve known better.
Upon asking her opinion, the sour face returns.
“What?” I asked jokingly. “Did I tuck it into my pantyhose or something?”
“No,” she said. “But you might as well have.”
Nor are my pantyhose up to snuff – the gray argyle ones I rather liked.
“Did you know,” she asked me. “That when you wear patterns like that, they make your legs look wider?”
I gave her a big smile.
“Did you know,” I ask her in response. “That if I kick you, it’ll hurt?”
But today, this day in particular, this bright and sunny day-before-Christmas, takes the cake. Not that I’m encouraged to eat cake, mind you.
“Are you working from home tomorrow?” she asks.
“No,” I reply, giving her a confused smile. “Tomorrow’s Christmas. The office is closed.”
And that, reader, as they say, is when the fight began.
Apparently, I’m lazy. And replaceable. And I ought not to forget how very replaceable I am, as an employee, and how very much I ought to value my job. I don’t want people to think I’m lazy, do I?
It was to the sound of continued shouting that I put on my too-light coat and walked out.
Can you blame me, reader?
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