Sometimes it's nice when someone tells you you look horrible. I am so used to perfection I often forget to check in the mirror before I come out. 'Hey Lucy, you look awful. Also, you stink of drink. Also, your fly is open. Ha ha, made ya look. You dunce.' See? How much humiliation could I have avoided if I had been told this? Much. Sometimes you have to rely on your family to deliver the brutal truth.
My mum and sister were up shopping in the capital today and graciously bought poor hungover me dinner. And sat there staring as I ate it. 'Everyone is so rude in Dublin.' My sister sighed, looking at me like it was my fault. 'I am going to kick the next person who walks in front of me. Why are you eating so slow?' She admired her immaculate reflection in a butter knife. 'I thought you said you were so hungry you could vomit.'
'Hence the slow eating, you div.' I fired back, eyeing warily the plate of pasta before me. 'What do you want for Christmas?'
'I told you, clothes and CDs and make-up. What do you want?'
'You haven't got my present yet?'
'Mum hasn't. I'm pimping for her.'
'Is this true?' I demanded of my poor mother.
'Youre hard to buy for!' she insisted. 'Anyway you havent bought any of your presents yet either.'
'There are three perfectly good shopping days left. I really don't see the point of making a song and dance out of this Christmas malarky. And no, I'm not hard to buy for, I like loads of stuff. CDs or books or clothes or- ooh, I saw two bronze greyhounds outside an antique shop on Aungier St. that I really like. Get me them!'
'Greyhounds? What would you do with them?'
'Put them outside my house to ward off unwelcome guests like the ESB man or the people collecting for raffles.'
'That is stupid.' Scoffed my sister. 'You have sauce on your shirt. What is with your hair? Phew, you stink of drink! Did you like, sleep in a brewry?'
Thank you, thank you. That is all I wanted.