Relations
Sod it! Sod it! Sod it!
Tomorrow is the final of the East Bogshire league cup. Greater Bogcastle Harlequins (GBH to their fans), a team I adopted recently but support with a rarely found passion, are playing and sure to win, it is a day I have dreamed of for years. It is also the day my wife’s family have now, suddenly, kindly, decided to ‘pay us a little visit’.
Bugger it to hell and back!
What a dilemma. I love my wife madly, I hate her family, I’m sure she secretly hates her family but for some inexplicable reason we have to behave as if Phil the Greek just rang and said “Hi Suzy, the missus is popping over, OK?”. It’s automatic pilot mode after that, “Of course, tomorrow? No problem, we’re home all day, it will be great to see you, you must stay for supper of course? Really mum, we can’t wait”, I like the ‘we’. WE can wait, WE would love to wait, ideally until hell freezes over, but do WE have any say in this, dream on! So now I have two choices, go to the match and throw the rest of my life down the toilet or stay home and be ‘nice’ to her family, again. Did I say two choices? I tell you though, I’m seriously tempted.
Suzy and I have been married one year and nine months, we’ve been together for 3 very happy years. We met in Bahrain where we were both working, Suzie as a nurse in private hospital and me in management for Gulf Air. Bahrain being one of the more liberal Arab states, we had a ball from the day we met, through our early married life and until our time in the sun finally came to an end. We were of course on our own in Bahrain, both our families and friends being back at home in the UK, mine in London and Suzy’s in Bogshire. It seemed at the time like such an easy and innocent little question, “David, where shall we live when we return home?” Suzy suggested somewhere in Bogshire so she could be near her parents who, after a few years absence, were remembered as ‘salt of the earth’ homely folks with nothing but good in their hearts. Funny how time plays tricks with the memory. I agreed in an instant, I knew no better. All I knew about Bogshire was that in the most part it lived up to it’s name, but the beer was great and my wife would be happy. At the time that was all that mattered.
So home to Bogshire it was followed, far too quickly, by what I have come to know as ‘That day”, time to meet the in-laws! It was a Sunday lunch occasion, we had passed on the invitation to join them at morning service and so headed off to number 6 Acacia Avenue, Spittle, Bogshire, at around midday with a song in our hearts.
You know, what annoys me most when I think back is how I never got any warning in the car that day. A few choice words here and there may have prepared me for what was ahead, I mean you don’t just throw someone to the lions without at least dropping a few hints about circus animals and long hair, do you? It’s just not done!
Not a word. The only time her lips parted were to kiss me as we walked up the drive. When they make a movie of my life this moment will have deep, dark threatening music, the kind that tells you that, without any doubt, something horrible is about to happen. Suzy will turn to me as we walk up that drive, her face now twisted in a wild schizophrenic mask, her lips and cheeks plastered with bright red lipstick, her kiss like the kiss of death. I imagine a scene somewhere between ‘Psycho’ and ‘Whatever happened to baby Jane’ would fit the bill nicely.
My first ever glimpse of George and Mildred was to see the twitch of the net curtains with the shadows of their faces lurking behind as they checked out my ability to walk up their drive without letting the family down. The full horror of the occasion was evident as the front door opened to reveal not only that musty come disinfectant smell one only finds in mortuaries but also the sight of two of the most hideous people you could ever wish to meet. I swear on my mothers life that my first reaction was that we had come to the wrong house. How could these ogres be my wife’s parents for Gods sake? She looked nothing like either of them and for sure smelt nothing like them! I was about to apologise and run when I heard Suzy say “Hi mum, hi dad” and run into an embrace. So this is it, the ancient and wise words of my father rang through my head like church bells “if you want to know what your wife will look like when she’s older son, just look at her mother”. I felt sick, I also felt suddenly very sorry for Suzy who was clearly oblivious to her fate. The incredible hulk has got nothing on the changes my wife was about to endure over the coming years.
My first embrace of Mildred, as she insisted I call her, was like wrestling a gorilla in drag, whereas George’s handshake was more like handling a dead squid. The question of in who’s wardrobe the trousers were hanging in this house was, well, not a question one needed to ask. The lunch reminded me of the torture scene from ‘Marathon Man’ where Dustin Hoffman is having his teeth extracted by what’s-his-name. Mossad would do well to recruit Mildred as the person in charge of those nice interviews you get at the airport when leaving Israel. The amount of information she got out of me in the space of 3 hours was incredible, had I been drugged I could have done no better! The looks! She had clearly been developing a whole ‘son-in-law’ collection over the months between our marriage and this memorable day. She had one that said “that’s all you earn” another for “you don’t like my food, do you?” even one for “my daughter deserves much better than this”, all delivered with a smile and a view of the half masticated roast beef of course.
Needless to say, it has all been downhill since then. My love for Suzy keeps me in this terrible place like a wasp trapped in an upturned Coke bottle, slowly losing it’s will to fight, slowly running out of oxygen, destined to die a lonely and pointless death.
I call my friends and pretend to be sick, offer my season ticket to Greg who can never afford the price of a ticket but goes skiing twice a year and then turn my attention to “fluffing” the pillows and polishing the canary.
Relations! God I’m depressed!