a generous side serve
the domestic minx
30 Comments
It has been my unfortunate experience that it is at those critical and pivotal moments in one's life that the universe will often choose to deliver an unexpected yet generous side serve of shit.
Birthday celebrations, anniversaries, death, funerals and other monumental occasions appear opportunistically to open the sluice gates and usher forth a stream of effluent from quarters unforeseen.
And, while I have already thrown blame at The Universe, it is not always the karmic ministrations of external forces that precipitate the horror.
In most circumstances it is the players, integral and peripheral, that create the drama.
For example, it was following the death of my darling Nan that an unexpected aberration in one dear relative's behaviour set about a chain of unpleasant events resulting in a Mexican standoff that lasted six months.
In fact, and not confined to this relationship, it was as if this dear lady's death acted as a purgative, releasing a scourge of constipated crapulence previously festering in the collective family bowels.
Dirty laundry spilled from closets, along with skeletons and other familial detritus that had never been aired. Secrets were spat, malignancies whispered and vendettas cast. What should have been a deeply sad yet cathartic experience created such division in parts of our family that I remain dumbfounded.
Likewise, weddings and other grand events, like pivotal birthdays, are often the stage upon which an entire Greek tragedy is wrought. Emotions run high at such performances and even while the wedding cake is cut, the body interred or the champagne swilled, family ties lay devastated by the inevitable slash of stress and upheaval.
And so it was, this past weekend, pivotal moment indeed, that my Dan turned eighteen.
And oh, what celebrations were instigated!
For turning eighteen in this colonial outpost is quite the deal. One is eligible to vote, alcohol may be swilled legitimately and all manner of dubious venues are thus frequented with reckless impunity.
In joyous anticipation, preparations for the ensuing extravaganza at home were extensive and elaborate.
For days the fragrant aromas of tikka masala, vindaloo, korma and rogan josh filled the air as the kitchen became a Bombay curry house, each nook and cranny a swaggering, hip swivelling Bollywood of Indian cuisine and decor, incense wafting past deep brass bowls and intricate candlesticks as colourful saris lay draped across chairs and the sounds of stinging sitars stung the air.
It was beautiful and evocative, it was pervasive and persuasive, it was a tour de force of Punjabi proportions.
Yet, even as saris were being draped elegantly over day beds, money was changing hands and tendrils of incense wafted over the gathering scene, there was a delivery being made to our house.
Alas, it was not the Shanti it should have been, it was the Scheisse.
However predictable the arrival of inappropriate crap is during periods of celebration, the side serve of shit is still a shock when it is delivered.
And why it is served is often just as great a mystery.
Tension, impatience, great vengeance and furious anger? Hormones?
Who can say? Yet here it was, a few hours from the arrival of guests...
A defiant, obnoxious and vile tongued birthday boy besieging his dear mother in a resounding and rollicking bollocking.
With rudeness. Unmitigated and uncalled for.
And so it came to be that a plague was upon our house, infecting all in our happy family, stinging it with anger and harsh words, poisoning the temperate waters we had been wallowing in blissfully as the special day approached.
Incalculably, upon the eve of Dan's move into manhood, we had travelled back in time to a darkness I thought had been left behind. The volatile temper, the manic mood, the impatient tongue and the furious anger.
I looked at this boy with fire in his eyes and saw myself, unmentionably manic, in the crazy carnival mirror alive before me.
It was a revelation as awkward as it was unattractive.
And my own eyes filled with tears.
They were still wet, moments from guests arriving on Friday night, as I slid into my black silk slip and fishnet stockings. I dried my eyes as I applied my makeup, kohling and shadowing them into dark deception as I wafted through a cloud of Agent Provocateur to meet the revellers.
The tears became a lump in my throat as I spoke to our gathering of the beauty of my son, his charming eccentricity, his bohemian and adventurous spirit, his colourful and crazy nonconformism and his passionate swashbuckling narcissism.
And when someone called out, "Hey Gold, he sounds like you with testosterone!"
with Dan stepping forward, full of apology and drunken kisses, my eyes filled again.
And they have been like that for much of the weekend, dear reader, blurring my vision, clouding my judgement, putting me off my game.
As our friends complimented him the following night at the Como Hotel, our handsome and devilish son frolicking flamboyantly in his suit, strutting his stuff and entertaining his entourage at our expense, I smiled proudly.
But the tears stung my eyes once more as his drunken migrations led him to the city where his wallet was inevitably stolen; money, good cheer and that all-important ID lost in the early hours of Sunday morning.
Ah, the side serve of shit...
A cruel addition to any party.
It moves me to tears.
Yet, as a visit to the doctor this morning reveals a case of severe and painful laryngitis for the beleaguered birthday boy, I must say, it almost reeks of Karma...
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Reader Comments (30)
Oh, my dear Golden Minxy, I sit here with tears swimming in my own eyes. I can't tell you just how much I understand & appreciate this post..sigh..I am truly speechless...
xoxoxoxoooxx
Rapunzel
Oh what cruel lessons we learn as we venture deep into parties unventured...
I have been lost for words all weekend, dear Rapunzel.
Stunned into silence by the unfolding of events.
It is all a surprise side serve, is it not?
And, hey! this is not what I ordered!!
While I advocate enormous love and being as a twig on the shoulders of a mighty stream...while certainly hoping it delivers us somewhere nice...I do appreciate the intervention of Karma, and it's fabulous policemen..
I've done time. I can say this..
xoxoxox
at 18y/o, i knew everything i needed to know to live life.... all except one thing: that i don't know isht. i acted & reacted very much like dan, spiting my mother, defying my father, simply being a rotten bastard of a child. deviance is usually a channel engaged in during the road to adulthood independence. soon we learn we can't do this thing on our own and with our own thinking... we need others as humans. especially our parents and family.
which brings me to your "releasing a scourge of constipated crapulence previously festering in the collective family bowels" idea. this i can relate to in soooo many ways. my uncle passed away over two years ago, after which the family remaining never really spoke to eachother again. this was something in the making for many, many years (prob 20 or so), but the flood gates were slammed open by his precipitous and untimely death. to this day we don't speak. i wish we did. i also wish i knew of a way to really start the healing and talking. it's just so fkt up.
thanks for the great post (as always), minx :)
Happy Birthday to your son.
I am dreading the day my son turns 18. He only has a mild "tude" at this age, but I know the worst is yet to come.
Sorry to hear about your side of shit! (at least it was well written!)
xxoo
I always seem to wind up with shit as my entree.
How do you have an 18-year-old? What were you, 6 when you had him?
Darling Raffi,
I often fear the Karma Police are showing me a little justice.
As a teenager I was just like Dan - a right little smart arse. I knew everything and was so impatient with everyone else that didn't. Most often that equated to my Mum who, curiously, is now my best friend.
I'm sure the rough and tumble passage on the road to maturity will smooth those rough edges for my lovely boy, who really is a darling when he's not being a devil.
In our own little family we have always had very open lines of communication. While the shit isn't allowed to fester in the family bowels, it is often laid out in the open air. Sometimes it really stinks.
I suspect you can't have it both ways.
I'm so sorry to hear about the festering in your own family, Raffi.
xox
Meleah darling,
It was an entire weekend of celebration that I'm glad has come to an end...
We are all emotionally and physically exhausted and the poor boy is quite ill now...
He's a Leo. There is always drama...
While I don't want to be the bearer of bad tidings, I will warn you of the teenage years.
They are quite horrendous; the very worst in boys appearing to take place between 15 and 18.
I'm at the tail end of it now.
The worst has passed, I know.
Still so surprised, though, at what was tossed at me, entree style, on Friday...
xox
Ah Whit,
Entree shite is always an appetite killer.
However, I feel it is an improvement on having it as dessert. Either way it leaves a bad taste in one's mouth.
I was a child bride...
xox
Mon Cher
Not the shit sandwich?! Oh my. Well, they do spread cow dung upon the floors in India so perhaps...it is a sign of good fortune. Ganesh will remove the obstacles, dearest one.
18 is the year we must leave the nest with a vengeance, yes? Testosteroni...ergh. IT's not the best side dish I'm afraid.
Hang on and hang in...your ensemble sounds divine.
Shit is organic, ripe and real...so it's got that going for it. Besides, it comes out of one's ass...from which most of my best career moves have been extracted.
I suggest fertilizing something with it and calling it a day.
xoxo
Mistress M
Oh darling Margot,
Your words are just the sweet balm I need this morning as I wonder how to deal with the not so fragrant manure still strewn about the floors of Maison Minx, Indian style...
Testosterone fuelled dung is rather putrid, I must add.
Still, I shall use it as fertilizer!
God knows I've produced enough of it myself to warrant a little of it sticking to me in the process..
I do love our little ensemble.
It is a Divine Comedy, I must say...
xoxo
On the flipside, there are occasions when the main dish is shit, and is delivered with a side-order of good.
Take the other day, when I fell out of a second floor window, yet my fall was broken by a burglar fleeing my mansion with a sack of my silverware. Bad led to good, and I got my goods back, and got to thrash a burglar with my cane, for added good.
I wish your son all the best as he becomes a man. He shall do just fine, I am sure, with a mother like you, my dear Minx.
xx
Lord Likely,
I am comforted by your words and experience.
Rather to have a side serve of excrement than a main dish, I've always said...
I'm pleased to hear you gave that burglar a good thrashing with your cane. I dare say my son could have done with one of those at some stage over the weekend, although it appears that Karma has taken the matter in hand...
I am convinced he will mature into a fine young man with his many good qualities overshadowing those more dubious ones. He does hail from good stock, it's true.
xox
oh, honey that is so regrettable.. not only for you but for him as well.. forever these things linger in the back of ones mind... they wreak havoc in ones soul... a the deepest seas of regret... thank you for sharing this tho... i feel a bit more on keel with you knowing your world has its little downward strokes at times too....
My dearest Minx,
I was a young man once and suffered the same afflictions of youthful pride and a careless tongue. Maturity and a healthy dose of Karma helped smooth my edges and turn me into the fine specimen I am today.
Sometimes teenagers don't realize how good they've got it. And he is one lucky young man to have you as a mother.
Eddie x
Darling Paisley,
It is regrettable indeed, as much for him as for me, I'm sure...
The shit has been put behind us now and as my dear friend Margot suggested, been used as fertilizer...
Which rather sums up my approach to life really!!
I am constantly turning straw into gold and poo into fertilizer. Which explains the vibrant state of my secret garden, somehow...!
xox
Yes, my dearest Eddie,
I was a wild young thing once, with not a care in the world for my poor parents' feelings...
How I regret it now..
for it seems Karma has seen fit to give me a dose of my own medicine - perhaps the most potent kind!!
I can see the Karma Police dealing with Dan in much the same manner.
Life is the best teacher, is it not...
Sadly, he doesn't see how good he's got it. Yet.
xox
I'm speechless. Completely!
I'm sure it wasn't the curry you were expecting......
Kisses.
No Michelle,
It certainly wasn't, darling!
No one wants that spicy abomination on their menu, especially one that had been so lovingly prepared.
A steaming bowl of the proverbial is hardly good fare.
I'm glad the shite didn't sour the night and everyone's appetite for a good time...
xox
Reading this, with me about to have one, your column sent me forward 18 years! I know the trials and tribulations of parenthood will be challenging but to be honest all I can think about right now is the hope that birth will be a narcotic induced euphoria:) It is due at Christmas and we will find out if it is boy or girl in a few days!
You're too lovely to be treated thus.
Do what my parents did to us. When we turned eighteen we paid rent, bought our own food, clothing and toiletries, etc. To us it was a rite of passage.
Since he is a Leo I will tell you the best and most effective way to pay him back is to simply ignore him, stop treating him like the king of the jungle and your roaring lion will become as meek as a kitten.
Dry your tears Minx ... although I can imagine them glistening on your lashes and cheeks. You should only be blessed with gratitude, smiles and affection. If he doesn't act right ultimatiums always work with the Leo. Wash his mouth out with soap and give him 2 weeks notice to move. He'll straighten up.
I have found that when you stop rewarding bad behavior situations can only improve.