I can't come to you for Christmas, said Eva, whose husband was having his turn with the kids this year, meaning she was left on her tod - the divorced woman's worst nightmare, and the married woman's idea of heaven.
Why not?
Because you will all be together and I'll have nobody and I just don't want to be reminded that everyone else has a family.
Erm, well we're hardly the ruddy Waltons, I protested, but she was determined to exclude herself.
However, it was true that the ex had forsworn the charms of his scrawny girlfriend to stay in the house with me for the first time since he left - without telling her, of course (sorry Natasha - but do read on for further suprises) - but in the two days running up to the International Festival of Consumption, I managed to argue with all three of my children and none of them were speaking to me so that most of the previous conversation with Eva was conducted in tears.
After staggering home in the snow with a temperature of 103 (the day before the Christmas party I was knocking back shots of Beecham's Cold Relief like Tequila), one of the little darlings announced that I could do my own washing up because it wasn't as if I had been doing anything all day 'sitting on my backside in an office for a couple of hours' (as opposed to sitting on your backside on holiday from college at home all day). Another joined in and queried the fact that I paid any of the bills when I wondered if the lights may, occasionally, be switched off rather than left on all night since Santa didn't actually need to find his way until the eve of the 24th. 'Are you sure you pay the bills, mother - isn't it dad who pays the bills?' And then the third went for the hat trick by shouting at me when I asked him to wait for a second while I finished a conversation with the new man (who I had just discovered was happily surfing www.thinandavailable.com - from which I'm naturally and fattily excluded) after I had driven across town and waited in the car for ten minutes to facilitate the purchase of the father's Christmas present.
Joy to the world.
Please, please, do come and join our dysfunctional happy family, everybody-hates-me Christmas, but no - instead she volunteered at a homeless shelter for Crisis at Christmas and I stayed home in the bosum of mine and had my own crisis and I cooked and served the lunch. The ex washed up. I almost forgave him for absent mindedly picking up my hairbrush in my bedroom and using it though I was silently screaming PUT THE RUDDY HAIRBRUSH DOWN - YOU DON'T LIVE HERE ANY MORE.
But never let it be said I'm selfish and don't know how to share. I also gave him my cold just in time for his trip to Colorado and the fragrant girlfriend. Yes - pig flu - it's the gift that keeps on giving.
Unfortunately I also passed in on to the new man. And that was even before he told me I was fat.
I'm very, very generous.
