A High-Stress Christmas

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

It was shaping up to be another high stress Christmas at the Walkers. Mary’s mother, Madge, is joining us for Christmas dinner, and Madge is extremely demanding and critical of her daughter. Madge raised Mary with an iron fist, or perhaps I should say, with a heavy leather strap. (Mary showed it to me once when we snuck into her mother’s bedroom while she was out of the house.) And the old bat has not softened one bit with age. Christmas with mother-in-law is a trial.

For the past week, our home has been undergoing a cleaning like you would not believe. Every surface where dust or dirt might settle has been cleaned, checked, and cleaned again. When your mother-in-law comes to dinner, is she likely to check the tops of the picture frames in the family room for dust? Mine is. Will she get down on her knees to see if there are any dust bunnies under the dresser in the guest bedroom? Mine will. Will she examine the light fixtures, the tops of door jams, the upper surfaces of floor molding? Yes, yes, and yes. Well, you get the idea; a visit from Madge is definitely a high stress occasion for my Mary.

It’s a shame, too. In all other respects, this could be a terrific Christmas for Mary and me. There is a large box next to the tree with my name on it, and I know just what is in it. I’ve been hinting for the St.Croix, Imperial USA, Fly Switch Rod (6-weight, 11’ to be specific). At first, I was disappointed when I saw the dimensions of the box Mary put under the tree. It is not at all the shape of the tube that contains a fly rod. The veil of mystery parted, however, when I hefted and shook the box to check its weight and rattle—standard, accepted Christmas gift investigation techniques employed late at night or when otherwise unobserved. There is no rattle, and the box is so light it is either empty, or contains something very light (like a fly rod). The St.Croix rod I want is eleven feet in length, but some careful measurements with a tape measure and the application of some basic trigonometry confirmed the box’s long diagonal is just the right length to accommodate the rod when it is broken down into its four segments, and stored in its included rod case. Quod Erat Demonstrandum (Q.E.D.), persistent, shameless hinting can pay off.

Mary has been much more subtle than I, but in her own way, she has made it clear she would not be at all disappointed if she received a Dell XPS 13 (9310) Ultraportable Laptop. Of course, I had to package it in a box even larger than the box Mary used for my rod (fingers crossed). I taped it securely inside the larger box, and also taped in four ceramic tiles I know Mary will like just to give the box a deceptive balance and weight. No amount of measurement taking, application of trigonometry or psychic manipulation is going to help my darling wife determine what is in her mysterious package. Although, a fiber optic probe inserted into an infinitesimal slit cut with a super-sharp blade near a fold in the cardboard at the corner of the box might do the trick.

We were both up early Christmas morning, and if it were only to be just the two of us like last Christmas, we would have rushed out to the tree and there would have been the sounds of laughter and the sights of brightly colored wrapping paper flying in all directions. There is a lot of the little kid in me, and Mary can get almost as loose when the situation permits. But this year there is a third present under the tree, tastefully wrapped, with none of the frivolous chicanery Mary and I have employed. This gift is meticulously labeled for “Mrs. Chapman” from “John and Mary.” I don’t know what is in this box, but I am sure it is the perfect gift for Madge. Mary stressed over it for months.

So instead of gleefully enjoying the morning, Mary and I were up early to once more check all the nooks and crannies for cleanliness, and to perform the last-minute polishing and preparing of the silver and china we will use for our dinner tonight.

Suddenly, there was a shrill screech from the living room. “John! Get in here!”

Now what? I wondered. Has the tree fallen over? What could go wrong on Christmas morning after all the work we put in this week?

I found Mary standing next to the fireplace, arms folded under her breasts, and a scowl on her face. The reason for her scowl was immediately obvious. The white bricks of the hearth were covered with a splatter pattern of black soot that spread out a couple of feet onto the cream-colored carpet. At the extreme edge of the pattern lay a small black rock.

“What kind of malicious prank is this?” Mary demanded. “Why would you do such a thing this morning of all mornings? My mother’s head would explode if she walked in and saw this.”

For about a microsecond, a vision of a splatter pattern of blood and gore overlaying the black flashed through my imagination, and I confess the image was not entirely distressing. I stood there dumfounded. I spent an afternoon scrubbing the inside and the hearth of the fireplace, after having the chimney professionally swept (yes, Madge was likely to check). There was no way soot could have come from that source. Besides, the glass screens were tightly closed to prevent any wayward drafts.

“I don’t know where this could have come from,” I protested.

“Don’t give me that,” Mary snapped back. Normally, Mary is made of sugar and spice and everything nice, and our marriage is full of harmony with Mary leading the chorus. But the pressure of the situation had clearly gotten to her. “I certainly didn’t do it, and Max has been in the doggie hotel at PetSmart for the past week. If you didn’t do it, then who did?” she demanded.

“Elves? Alien space bats? How the hell should I know?” I cursed.

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me,” Mary growled.

I know I am in serious trouble when her voice lowers like that, and I began to sweat.

“Obviously, a lesson is warranted to curb your childish pranks and amend your attitude,” she added. “Go get my hairbrush.”

“But Mary,” I pleaded.

“Stop right there,” she commanded. “What is the rule?”

“You’re in charge.”

“Why?”

“Because between the two of us, you are the more adult, and I am often in need of your guidance.”

“What else?”

“You decide when discipline is needed.”

“And?”

“Your decision is final, and I am not to argue. Ever.”

“Or?”

“All punishments will be doubled.”

“That’s correct. Now run along and do as you’re told. And when you come back in here, I want you in your birthday suit.”

“Yes, dear,” I responded, as I headed for the bedroom to strip and collect her heavy wooden hairbrush, kept displayed on her vanity. Mary and I have a spanking relationship. Most spankings, while painful, are delivered in fun and lead to even more lascivious fun once concluded. But occasionally, they are used as pure punishment for the correction of grave sins or omissions. All spankings are delivered by Mary to me, usually in the traditional bared-bottom, over-the-knee fashion.

Mary started this spanking with her hand, but quickly transitioned to her brush. All the pent-up anger, frustration and anxiety welling up over the past weeks was flushed from her in a cathartic release. And after a good five minutes, she heaved a great sigh and pushed me off of her lap.

“In lieu of corner time, just clean up that mess,” she directed as she stood and strode from the room. “We do not have time today for this kind of juvenile nonsense.”

“Yes, dear,” I responded through my tears.

There was no mention of getting dressed first, so I just got to work in the all-together with my glowing red bottom on display—which probably reminded Mary of an inverted Rudolf in this holiday season. I started by picking up and examining the rock. I’ve never had occasion to use coal, but that is what it looked like to me. Where the devil could it have come from?

Based on the pattern on the white bricks of the hearth, the coal must have dropped from above. There were no holes in the ceiling, so it could not be a spent meteorite from outer space. In fact, the only thing above the spot of impact was the mantel where our Christmas stockings were hung with care (yes, Madge would likely check). My stocking bulged appropriately with my favorite candies. (Mary really is a sweetie, most times.) Mary’s stocking seemed a little lumpy, and when I touched it, a second nugget of coal fell out of the toe and splattered on the hearth. Max chewed out the toe of Mary’s Christmas stocking the previous year when it was left within his reach, loaded with Mary’s favorite caramels.

I wondered where the coal could have come from as I chewed a stick of gum and cleaned up the mess it made, then cleaned the area once more just to be certain (not forgetting to also pick up each needle that had fallen from the Christmas tree overnight). I rarely chew gum—that’s Mary’s bad habit, never indulged in when within sight or sound of her mother.

While I worked, I pondered the situation. There was only one possible source for those lumps of coal, and applying Sherlock Holmes maxim of elimination, I decided he must be responsible. I also seemed to recall that naughty children who received coal in their Christmas stocking almost always also received the birch or the strap.

The birch has faded from use these days, but I harbored little doubt Madge would be carrying her trusty strap rolled up in her purse when she came for dinner… just in case it was needed. I was also certain a wad of chewing gum stuck up under the table where she was to sit could not possibly go unnoticed. (I can be a little devil when the mood overtakes me.) Madge knows I have no history of gum chewing, while her daughter does. I know it sounds pretty mean, but I also knew Madge would be delighted to exercise her strap. And Mary? Mary would ultimately be relieved to have the inevitable out of the way so we could all relax and enjoy our presents and the rest of her mother’s visit.

I checked my stocking once again, just to be sure it really contained chocolates. Sure enough, my favorite. Guess the jolly old fellow is a male chauvinist, after all.

THE END

Copyright © 2021 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved. Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.