"Where's the cat?" ask the parents in law.
"Oh, she's around - somewhere," I shout, attempting to drown the mewing that's growing in volume and intensity from just outside the back door.
We're on the fourth bottle of wine and things are going fine, so far.
In a desperate bid to look in control, I've achieved a look of bare minimalism by giving away half the furniture to my sister and hiding everything else, including the children and the vacuum cleaner.
I am forced to retrieve the vacuum cleaner when a close observation of the floors reveals so much surface dirt that unless I plan to claim oxygen starvation as an avant garde technique for perfect preservation - as in the case of assorted bog men, woolly mammoths and the Mary Rose - something will have to be done.
I'm just doing it when the doorbell rings - 15 minutes early. "We were incredibly lucky with public transport," say the delighted in-laws, as I greet them with as much poise as the hoover hose coiled round my shoulder like a pet anaconda will allow.
Then there's a bang and a flash as something awful happens to the lights.
I finish cooking by candlelight. This has the benefit of making my cooking more palatable - a blackout providing, to my mind, the optimum conditions for successful presentation.
"I'll just see if I can fix the lights," says Francis. A few minutes later, to my slight chagrin, they come on.
The in-laws stare at the plates whose contents are suddenly all too visible. Then there's a diversion. Not, though, a welcome one.
"There's the cat," say the in-laws. "Puss, puss."
I can only assume she's somehow tunnelled her way in, possibly taking a tip from the tapework on burrowing techniques.
"You don't want to touch her," giggles Deborah, "she's - "
"Sssh!" I hiss. "Remember what I told you."
"Oh," say the parents in law, looking slightly closer at the cat as she retreats off to her food bowl. "Is that...?"
And suddenly we're plunged into darkness again. It's all I can do to resist giving three hearty cheers.
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9 comments:
Oh nightmare!
I think the job of the mother in law is always, but always to notice and comment upon the one and only thing that will bother us on their visit. Their honing skills are without exception, perfect.
Oh, OM, you have made me laugh out loud! Did your lights come back on? How is the cat? Have 'they' gone yet? The worms or the in-laws? On the edge of my seat waiting to find out
You planned that well!!! :)
The poor cat! Maybe if you sat it on inlaw's knee in the candlelight, they're obviously quite keen on it.
Crystal xx
finthef: And to think that becoming a dreaded mother in law is the fate that, quite possibly, awaits me. I can't help wondering whether it would be easier if Leo turned out to be gay.....
tina: worms and in-laws have both gone, though didn't share taxi.
casdok: As an atheist, I have difficulty shrugging off the existence of God at all times: This was one of those times.
CJ: But think of what the cat might leave behind - with the emphasis strongly on behind.
I hope the darkness continued until they in-laws were safley out the door...four bottles of wine, lol, would they have been able to see anything anyway?
Great cliffhanger!
I did suspect a touch of Bad Lindy Black Magic when the lights first went out, but if she'd been at work, sure they'd have been out quite a while longer.... Mind you, that second black out raises questions.
A touch of the theatrical seems most appropriate to describing in-law encounters. Pray God my husband never sees what I am about to write, but mine have more that a passing touch of the Dickensian about them. And I'm not just talking about candle light here.
The mood lighting certainly came up trumps, didn't it?
Mya x
DJ: It was nailbiting but I just drank a lot and prayed Gordon Brown wouldn't turn up and remove the bottles for my own safety.
M@L: It's the dimmer switch. It's been nothing but trouble, even with a wattage rating that should allow us to run a pylon in our kitch without a problem.
Mya: Where would I be without it?
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