Happy Families

Lying in bed, I looked on top of the wardrobe where the yummy, leather weekend bag I’d bought years before now resided. A gentle sprinkling of dust had settled on the soft taupe leather with its silky, striped lining and studded feet.

I remembered buying it, imagining the pair of us, gliding into glittering hotel foyets in all the major cities across the world. I was wearing heels and ‘Jackie O’ sunglasses. I had a substantially smaller bottom and my boobs were still pointing in the same direction as when God had designed them.

I clambered out of bed to give it a quick buff and a cuddle but it was out of reach. I tried my bounce and grab approach which had served me well in the past but, like a sulking friend, it evaded my advances.

I traipsed back to bed as Accountant wandered into the room.
“Well?” he said.
I pretended not to understand.
“Have you found anything?” he nodded at the 'Siblu' holiday brochure that lay on my bedside table.
“Erm, no, not yet” I replied.
“What’ve you been doing then?”

Deciding not to tell him I’d been fantasising about luxury luggage, vast marble bathrooms, shimmering crystal chandeliers, fabric lined walls and 24hr room service, I made my excuses.

“Just readjusting my expectations, sweetheart.”
Accountant’s face set to one of deep disapproval so I cautiously reached for the brochure, grimacing through the effort. Accountant settled down beside me as I opened to the first page.

Screaming children, primary colours, a slithering entanglement of waterslides, banana boats, caravans, lilos, outdoor sports, tents... I shut the brochure with a decisive snap.

Feeling Accountant’s eyes boring into me, I declared myself exhausted and turned off the light. Before I’d shut both eyes, the light was back on and, apparently, Accountant was keen to chat.

“What’s your problem?”
It was more like problems, really. The biggest one being my husband.
He went for the jugular. “Chick will love it.”
“I know he will but where am I going to plug in my hair straighteners?”
Accountant growled.
“How do people even wash?”
“It doesn’t have to be a tent, we could have a mobile home” he said re-opening the brochure to illustrate his point.
A shiver ran down my spine, “I can’t spend a week with those curtains” I whined.

An icy atmosphere settled in the room as Accountant began muttering about how inflexible I was. I turned away. Compared to three years ago, I had more child-friendly features than ever but still it wasn’t enough. They wanted my very soul.

I went to sleep guilty. Guilty I wasn’t ‘outdoorsy’. Guilty for hating Aqua-parks. Guilty of loving pastels and gingham, mints on my pillow, toilet paper folded into a ‘v’ and miniature toiletries.

The next morning, brochure open in front of me, I dialled the number slowly.

“Siblu– French for happy families” the cheery voice answered.