All in the name of entertainment

It's Mothers Day. The words rolled off my tongue slow and melancholy. I turned, stuffing my head under the pillows, muffling the shouts calling me from downstairs.

We had arranged to visit the local pub and despite the excitement below, I was reluctant to step a foot out of the bed. The noise continued, and then heavy footsteps ascended the staircase. I braced myself, gripping my hands to the bed frame and curling my feet around the duvet. Moments later it felt as though I was being dragged out onto a forensic table, cold, naked and highly annoyed, as any man would be! If, in the unlikely case, they were still alive.

The sheets tumbled down onto the floor, protecting me from the impact. The war was not over yet, there is still hope. I began forming another comfort zone, my eyes barely able to see through the crusts patched at the side. Alas, it only needed one more yank from my oppressor, and then, all was lost. In my stupor I rose up and sluggishly made my way to the bathroom, mumbling about Christianity being imposed on the world.

I was fully awake by the time we had reached our destination. There was no going back now. It was only a matter of time before the ticking time bomb - my mother - would implode.

The chaos began as soon as we were seated, the look of dissatisfaction spread. Our eyes turned to each other, back and forth as if we were starring in a John Wayne movie. Her eyes snaked their way round the room, finding the appropriate victim.

‘We want to be moved to another table’

‘I’m afraid we’re fully booked’

‘We can wait for somewhere else’

‘Another table won’t be available till later’

The conversation rattled on but we were nowhere closer to getting what we wanted. My mother was not in the least bit satisfied. I saw him approach steadily. Go back! I inwardly shouted.

It was too late. Tempers rose.

‘Madam the way I see it you will never be satisfied, so you can leave’. He turned abruptly and walked off. I knew from that moment on the entire day would revolve around this incident.

People began staring. All eyes were on us to continue our performance; I myself sulked down into my chair, wishing that the trouble would end here.

‘Some Mothers Day this is’ were the parroted words. We did everything we could to placate her disgrace but words fell on deaf ears. Outrageous comments flew across the table, ‘What if they poison our food? We could always call the police’. I simply turned my attention elsewhere, not bothered as to where this conversation might be headed.

I rolled my head back to stare at the wall behind me. A small red object had been seated directly in front of me. Coincidence? I reached out for it, my fingers touching the edge of the small lever and then, before I knew it, the buzzer sounded.

A spray of cold droplets splashed around the building. Adults and children alike screamed and hustled over each other towards the exits, leaving their grandparents behind to fumble with their ear pieces. Chairs glided across the room, backwards and forwards and then a hushed silence fell.

Four pairs of eyes looked at me in disbelief. I chuckled and asked, ‘Are we coming back for St Patricks?’