Christmas day

“That whore and her half-caste bastard are never going to cross my threshold.”

My step-mother had been married to my father for six years at the time that she made this pronouncement so she’d obviously had time to refine her opinion of her step-daughter. This was her reaction to news of my pregnancy.

To have a mother who considers you loathsome might be unfortunate; to have a step-mother who feels the same way while not carelessness, since I had chosen neither, certainly does nothing to bolster a positive self-image.

The fact that both I and my half-caste bastard together with the second, slightly more acceptably parented, bastard are currently across her threshold and under her roof indicates that her initial position has modified somewhat over the intervening decade or so. Children, after all, come into the world innocent and not at their own behest. However her underlying opinion of their mother has changed very little.

Another familiar part of this territory – the aversion to physical contact, the overt hostility and snide remarks – is the concomitant delight in the company of the male. The now live-in-ex has always been drawn across the threshold with effusive delight and demonstrations of affection. It is hardly surprising then that in the current situation I, the wicked, heartless and irrational woman, have injured the long-suffering and saintly man whilst also ruining the lives of my children.

Thus it was that as midnight ticked into Christmas morning I was upstairs wrapping presents for the children serenaded by the gales of laughter and sounds of carousing and merriment from below as my father, step-mother and ex drank life, or at least the port, to the lees.

Merry Christmas.

11 Replies to “Christmas day”

  1. Merry Christmas, RR, and I only wish you and your lovely children were right here under our roof, safe from torment. Consider yourselves loved – by people who actually know you.

  2. Happy Boxing Day, Miss Frizzy! I’ve been thinking of you quite often lately, and hope things turn for whatever better might be ahead.

  3. Wicked stepmothers have it the toughest, they only get the recognition they deserve once they topple off. Maybe you can give them a staged wicked New Year’s Eve surprise! I’ll come to London and we can set something up.

  4. Ugh. What a sublime grotesque from the nether world your step-mother sounds to be. So this was the terribly nice woman DR took to second wife was it? Ugh ugh ugh. Haven’t been here for a day or two, too long. Wasn’t there a fairy tale ending involving the wicked stepmother being forced to dance to deathin red-hot shoes?

  5. That was a bit of a brain fart… was feeling exceedingly sorry for myself. Sorry for inflicting it on others.

    Thank you, mr feng37, for making *me* a wicked step mother as well, of course, as an omnipotent computer 🙂 Nothing a quick waft of lavender couldn’t mend, I hope. I forgot completely to bring your lavender from Hungary. I’ll have to post it.

    Lucy, sadly this is indeed exhibit B. She’s mellowed a lot, but I need to cultivate constructive intolerance, or at least expressed constructive intolerance rather than trying to pretend it’s all ok.

  6. Just remind her that her husband will never love her like he loves you.

    There’s a nasty thought to say, but it does remind us of the true geometry of the situation. It helps to underpin my own relationship with both my father’s second wife and my partner’s daughter. Love is not a competition, and those who treat it so are doomed to torment themselves and their objects of affection.

    I came here completely by accident. A lovely place. Thank you.

  7. Dear David… glad you found here, and to find your blog too. Yes, I think you’re probably right about the equation. And the observation about competition? Spot on.

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