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Rainy Christmas

Rainy Christmas

“Last Christmas… I gave you my heart…” (fade out). Female noisy scream approaching:

“Turn off your boring digital radio or shut that freak up yourself!” – shouted she in the middle of the kitchen while trying to organise the Christmas breakfast for herself. I had to get up earlier on Christmas day and cook her something festive, but all my efforts and results have been sent to bin as the Christmas morning could not start grumpier as it did in 2015. We spent Christmas Eve separately because she decided to party till late and made me wait for her in the living room, half awake surrounded with flickering Christmas tree and an off-air TV channel. She said that the reason for her coming back so early in the morning was amount of guests at the corporate Christmas party, which resulted in presenting too many gifts that she could not carry away, plus I was not there to help her. Thus none of us has had enough sleep on Christmas night and George Michael was the last to blame!

She was standing by the sink and stirring absent sugar in her mug filled with very strong coffee drink. Then she thought that tap water would make her coffee less sweater, but she did it with a killer-phrase “By the way, darling, where is snow?!”. I strongly believe I was not the only one to be stricken by such question on Christmas day. I guess some astronauts might have wished not to come back to Earth in fear of having no answer to this sort of riddle. We had a fantastic view from our kitchen covering our beautifully trimmed lawn and spacious garden. We both got used to green colour of the grass throughout the year, but that morning our grass looked healthy green, because it had been raining all night. And both of us were lacking some deep sleep, but this time it was me who had to take all the blame.

I have already forgotten what I cooked her earlier that morning, but was finding it difficult to be a happy Santa on rainy Christmas morning. Last time I saw snow was on some BBC Weather Report programme showing pictures sent by Scottish audience. She definitely did not want to know how I am feeling or what I have wrapped for her and put under the Christmas tree. Her main concern was the absence of snow on Christmas day that could only be worsened by pouring rain. Just like those astronauts in outer space I did not have the answer to her question of the day. I decided to calm her down with a tasty tangerine and put all my faith in that fruit to help me resurrect Christmas 2015.

But my fruity donation was rejected. She spilled her coffee on the floor, started crying and explaining how snow is important for Christmas. The tears were rolling on her cheeks, the ink was dropping from her lashes and the tangerine was about to take off in my direction. I clearly recall that moment when I stopped caring. I prevented any object flying by taking her by the hand and dragging her into the bathroom. Then I ran down and up the stairs to bring a bottle of champagne which I poured down on her while she was crying on the bathroom floor. I do not why but I was hoping this champagne treatment might make her understand that there are other things that heavily matter on Christmas day. Such as Christmas lights, parents, best friends, festive food, at least me. That question about snow was probably the only one she bothered to ask me in about one month’s time, because she was too busy with Christmas preparations at her work. I felt really abandoned and was expecting some kind of reunion on this Christmas day. But all my plans have been destined to go to waste together with her festive breakfast. And I feel alright that she feels wet on rainy Christmas. Now at least she has got something else to care about and can forget about snow.

(fade in): “But the very next day… you gave it away!”

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