E Chapter Five A Not So Merry Christmas

Five - A Not So Merry Christmas

12.30pm on Christmas Day.
I've already had enough of them.
Now let me note 'why' with my new daisy patterned pen with matching and
equally dicky covered notebook, the gift from Godly
Grandma&;#8230;

Journal of Daisy Simpson
OR
Godly Grandma's Sad Attempt to Purge Dubious Daisy of Wicked
Thoughts

Christmas Day
The father arrived late last night, and he and Mum have been
surreptitiously fighting since. In fact they were still arguing at 3am.
I'd stayed awake until around 2am, trying to find out what was going
on, but eventually drifted off to sleep. The father needs to confess.
Until then, Mum won't say a thing. I don't know who's worse.

A bad dream woke me an hour later, and not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse.
I was floating in the water naked, having a great time, when I saw a
shark's fin, the size of Jaws', rise from a wave further out. I could
feel the panic, even in my sleep. I tried to get to shore, but didn't
seem to be getting any closer. Exhaustion began to claim my limbs. The
fin seemed to be getting larger. More like a section from the Opera
House. I tried calling to the father, but he didn't seem to hear. He
was talking to some guy in red Speedos.
I screamed and screamed, but no one from the beach even looked my way,
not even the lifeguard with the binoculars and least of the father.
Just as the shark was about two metres away, the fin blocking the sun,
when I spotted the cutish peeping tom attacker on a boogie board. Then
all of a sudden, I woke, sweating like an obese pig in a sauna. All
over this time, not just the waterfall on the face thing.

I am totally pissed off that yet another Christmas has been ruined. Why
can't they come out with it? Why do they pretend to each other that
nothing is wrong?

We've just opened the presents and I'm wondering why we bothered at
all. Everyone's really shitty, but trying to hide it. It's all so
false. Mum's shitty with the father, the father is shitty with Mum,
Clover's shitty that she got red flowered Rip Curl boardies instead of
lime green, and I'm shitty with the whole lot of them.

I tried really hard to get everyone something they wanted, even Clover.
For Mum, I got a massage gift voucher. She didn't seem to be offended
by the message. The father seemed to like the Santana CD, and the Good
Food Guide.

He's acting even more distant though. And distracted. If it at all
possible.
Clover. I was trying to make up for all the dark thoughts about her
lack of depth. If she were any shallower, she'd be a golly on a
schoolyard. That of an infant's student. I was also trying to gain
brownie points with Mum. Actually I was far more worried about Mum's
reaction. The scuffs were nice, and if she hinted for them one more
time, I would have had to be a Clover to not understand.
When she opened the present, she was really happy. Huh! She tried to
hide her surprise that I had actually purchased them. More importantly,
Mum made approving sighs as I struggled not to wipe Clover's Listerine
air kiss from my cheek.

In return, I received a t-shirt she had also been eyeing off for
herself at that same shop, so I guess it will be a matter of time
before she sneaks it out of my drawer. At least she gave me something
this year, and Mum's approving noises weren't quite so loud as Clover
wiped her cheek following the sloppy wet one I planted.

On the plus side, Nan sent a decent cheque. Cossie shopping in two
days! I also scored some excellent pressies from Mum, with the father's
name attached to each card. Though not really my style, the lime green
Rip Curl boardies feel pretty good. Sucked in to Clover. Mum gave me a
decent amount of cash, so I could go shopping for heaps of other
clothes and shoes. I also received the latest Powderfinger CD,
indisputably the best Australian band.

Ungrateful as I may seem, there IS a down side. Mum has splurged for
three reasons.
1. She had been promising me that we would go shopping for the last six
weeks, due to my latest (still!) growth spurt.
2. She's feeling really guilty about the father.
3. The father goes ballistic when Mum spends a fortune on Christmas.
(Frugal, evangelical family. Filthy rich, but unable to indulge sins of
the flesh, etc.)
Not good!

'Clover, Daisy come and set the table. Tradition.'

Yeah Mum. Let's follow tradition. You and the father won't say a word
to each other throughout the lunch and the father won't say a word to
any of us. Excellent reason to leave my cell.

Well, better grab the box of table things from the linen press.
There'll be no help from Clover. She's still sulking in her room.
It's all really quite funny, in a malicious kind of way. Having
reluctantly agreed to try on her new, unwanted boardies at Mum's
insistence, Clover was dealt a savage blow. A blow with the impact of a
nuclear blast. Her boardies don't fit around the thighs.

Mum and the father are trying to quietly bicker while trying to ignore
each other at the BBQ outside.

Well, bring on the Christmas spirit&;#8230;

A little more gold tinsel here. Perhaps the huge red balls from the
tree at the top of everyone's plate&;#8230;. Mmm, yes, lovely, just
lovely.

'Girls, one more minute, and we'll be finished out here.'

Just enough time. Connect the extension lead, hit the switch and
voila!

Oh stunning. Simply stunning.
Footsteps, and here they are&;#8230;

'Fucking Hell'

Surprised you even noticed father.

The surprised expression is evident even through the multi-coloured
light show. The green lights seem to stay on Clover's face for longer
than the others.

'Don't swear like that in front of the girls. It is tasteless, but
this, this mess is an act of rebellion. A sign of Daisy's need in this
time of familial turmoil to cling to positive symbols of universal
peace.'

Mum is actually admitting there IS a problem!
'I refuse to sit at that table until Dopey Daisy has removed the sleaze
district light show.' Typical Clover. Misses the cue.

Well, I guess she is still really pissed off with me from yesterday
with having to convince Mum she didn't smoke. Apparently, it took about
two hours of listening to Mum's 'Smoking kills and it's indicative of
an addicted personality and an addict is a deceiver' speech. Clover
begged to be taken for a chest X-ray as proof of her innocence.

'Well, have a nice small piece of poached fish on the couch with all
your friends. You won't eat anything else anyway. You're too worried
about you're big hips and cellulite dimpled thighs to enjoy food.'
Charming, aren't I?
They all piss me off!

'Daisy, don't say such horrible things to your sister. Yes, she is very
sensitive about her thighs, but she can't help it if she inherited your
paternal great-aunty's tree stumps. You will take away those lights
because they're dangerous while we're eating. THEN WE ARE ALL GOING TO
BLOODY ENJOY CHRISTMAS LUNCH TOGETHER.'

The father looks as if he is about to argue but thinks better of it.
Mum has a wild look about her.

'I try really hard, uuuhhh really very hard, uuuuhhh to have nice legs,
and none of you care at all. How can any guy like me uuuuhhh when my
own family thinks I'm hideous?'

She's nearly choking on her hiccups. Is that snot on the edge of her
left nostril?
Silence from everyone.

She has a point of course. But should I tell her about the snot? Sooo
socially unacceptable to have snot rolling down one's upper lip, even
in front of family! Daisy, don't even think about it&;#8230; No,
inappropriate.

The wise course of action would be to just shut my mouth, having fired
the first bullet. If I said something along the lines of 'looks aren't
important, and it's what's inside that counts, it would be wasted on
Clover. She thinks what's inside counts only when you hit old age -
thirty-five!

Nooo. Is that sympathy I'm feeling? Yes, it is.
Well, she has inherited those ordinary thighs from Great Aunty Elsie
the Evangelical Elephant, and she does try really hard to look like a
Neighbours starlet. They're not really all that bad, and I actually
haven't spotted any hail damage. She shouldn't try to squeeze herself
into hipster bootlegs made for anorexic Amazons. She just looks
odd.

The father looks really embarrassed. Psychobabble Mum will be at the
rescue in one second, two second, three&;#8230;

'Clover, I'm sorry if what I said hurt your feelings, but you have to
learn to accept your own body. After all, you have been given a lovely
face and upper body. However, you just have to accept starving yourself
won't make your legs look like Elizabeth Hurley's. She's spent
thousands of dollars, as many hours, wears shoes that should be
registered as lethal weapons, and women's magazines still go on about
her thigh exploding by point one of a centimetre.'

'But - '

'NO buts! I know I sound harsh, but it's better for you to deal with
this now. We are NOT super models or Hollywood actresses. There are
only a handful of them, and thank god for that. We should not cave to
an impossible image promoted by the corporate world. We are real women.
REAL!' (She's even looking very Germaine Greer-ish.)
'And as for that middle class school promoting such values, well, you
know my view on that one! (Huge, pointed look at very embarrassed
father.) When we return home, we'll select items from realistic shops,
and dress for the real world to accentuate your real assets.'

Are we all real?

We're certainly not honest. Well, Mum's not being honest, except about
Clover's thighs. At least my guilt over Clover and scoffing more than
two Turkish Delights a day can fade away.

'It's so unfair. Why can't I be like most of the other girls at school?
I just don't know how I'll ever deal with it. I'll need to get a whole
new wardrobe to get to look normal. And I mean new EVERYTHING.' The
tears stop.

I'll give it to Clover. She knows how to turn a horrible thing into a
good one. It will cost Mum dearly.

Silence, but at least no more tears or angry words.

Mmm, 'familial turmoil'. What exactly does she mean?