Following a strange European tradition, my family open their presents on the evening of Christmas Eve. Weird huh?
We've just completed the unwrapping, the many gasps of delight- feigned or otherwise - it's sometimes hard to tell. The occasion was made rather uncomfortable however, as we had two alien onlookers. Haha. Alien. Not really. They are kin, after all. My grandparents that is. Haven't seen them in 15 years or so (gosh, i keep saying that to everyone. It bugs me that i have to keep repeating myself- i'm not annoyed at others for asking, but just humiliated that, to those that have heard it before, it seems as though i'm intentionally painting myself out to be some poor neglected child. Scrounging some grey fame, some cheap pity). What can I say? One can't expect our hearts to beat the same tune when the imagined becomes the eye to eye physical. I certainly did not expect that, i can tell you. They're all right, i suppose. Gramps is sweet, with his strong lower london accent. Strands of white hair are combed over his forehead. WHen he laughs, his squashed face creases with merriment, and turns an alarming red. He makes me smile. Nanna is a very sharp lady; remarking on the cleanliness of every room (at least it had a jocund seasoning), and going into detail when recounting her travels. She's an apt conversationalist, with a broad knowledge of the particular, and a surprisingly modern sense of humour. I have no idea what to say to them though, or whether i'm expected to be a full time entertainer. Obviously, if that expectation exists, i am flouting presently. I can hear their voices seeping through the crack in the door.
However, it seems that i am not alone in my social uneasiness. There are sometimes times when conversation dries up, and we cast our eyes with sudden interest upon various items of furniture, and give that sigh that intends to say 'well, isn't this nice', but really means 'good grief, am i really resorting to this noisy expiration of breath just to fill a gap?'
Well, thank god for Missy i suppose. When the party experiences such a hiatus in entertaining exchange, we resort to observing the pooch. It's so strange- i don't pay her that much attention usually (what a cruel owner i know); but when other people are around, she suddenly becomes an object brimmed with interest. Nanna herself admits she is no animal lover, but for minutes at the time we have examined her foolish antics, with persiflage to heighten the illusion of ease.
pah says i.
Anyhoo, let us, dear reader, redirect this train of thought to station one. Opening the presents. Since nana and gramps are poms, they open their prezzies tomorrow. Thus, for perhaps half an hour, they watched with stretched smiles (mouth parted slightly) as we opened present after present. I felt so damn spoilt and selfish- particularly because Amy bought the family so many. I couldn't help myself fabricating some future scene of the two back in England, with Nanna exclaiming on the event sipping English Breakfast tea, with puckered lips and eyebrows struggling to reach heaven.
Well, i did tell you i was a grinch didn't i? I do love the gifts received though. My own sushi making kit, a new watch, books, a lavendar top, a watercolour book...
I wish they wouldn't spend so much on me. You know, i would gladly forgo my birthday. I don't like having a day to myself. I don't like the attention. eep.
I used to expect so much from such momentous days when i was little. You know, i'd wake up, invigorated from the promised magic of the day. I believed that there was something that set those days apart- everything was different then; i was invincible to all the trials and sufferings of the other days of the year. I recognise now that, well, frankly, there is no difference. It's just another day really. Sure, people make an effort to be more amiable, and your material status is heighted...but...i can't seem to get excited anymore. In fact, i think part of me attempts to stifle any thrill that may rise up from the depths, just to allay disappointment. That was the one bruising downside to my childhood optimism and amazing capacity for hope, my imaginitive readiness (yes, my dears, the great gatsby tweaked). If something went wrong...not according to the opal plan...i'd be so crushed. I remember on one of my parties, when i was about 6, and no one wanted to play with me at the Fun Factory. Amidst the rainbow plastic balls, the mini-punch bags and the sweaty foam, i snivelled like a hedgehog with a fly up it's nose.