Me Time

I lolled on the couch looking forward to an afternoon of back-to-back Netflix movies. I had everything set up: a bucket of popcorn, two litres of coke, double stacked cushions.

The remote control was in prime position on the coffee table beside the couch, no more than an arms length away.

My attire was loose and casual. I had made the effort of climbing out of my pyjamas and into jogging pants. Comfort being imperative for a marathon movie session.

I had shut the blinds, drawn the curtains and turned off my cell phone, shut out the outside world. I had been working like a dog for too long and salivated at the thought of some me time.

This was it. 

Two hours in and half a bucket of popcorn down, I started to doze off. The monotony of Liam Neeson’s voice had a soporific effect. 

A short while later, I awoke to the sound of a loud banging noise and realised someone was at the door. 

I thought: who could that be? 

I tried to ignore it hoping whoever it was would just go away. The knocks kept on coming and seemed to be getting louder. I slid off the couch and trudged over to the front door while the closing credits of my first movie were rolling up the screen. 

I pulled off the security chain, slid back the bolts and opened the door.

I looked down to find an old lady standing there with a blue rinse and a faux mink stole festooned around her neck. She was carrying a bulky shopping bag.

“For Christ sake, where have you been, what have you been doing?” she said.

“Mum, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said.

“Well, I was in the area and thought I’d pop by. I called your mobile but couldn’t get through. Anything the matter?”

“No everything is fine, really.”

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Yeah sure come in.”

“My god, why is it so dark in here? It’s three o’clock in the afternoon. It’s a lovely day outside.”

“I’m just having some down time, watching films.”

“What on a day like today? Don’t waste your life away watching television, go outside and get some fresh air into your lungs.”

She went over to the windows and pulled up the blinds. I shielded my eyes as sunlight flared into the room.

“Aren’t you going to make me a cup of tea? I’m gasping.”

“Yes, okay mum.”

While I was in the kitchen she strolled around doing spot checks of every room, running her finger along the surfaces, checking for dust, sighing and clicking her tongue.

“When was the last time you dusted this place? And hoovered, it’s filthy.”

“Last weekend. It’s clean.”

“Clean! You call that clean. It’s a good thing you’re not living at home anymore. If you’d have left your old bedroom like that, all untidy, clothes everywhere, you would have spent the entire day clearing up.”

“Okay mum. Tea’s ready. Here you are.”

I proffered the steaming cup of tea. She looked at me with a blank expression.

“Can’t you put it down on a coaster on the coffee table?” she said as she went into the living room.

I did as she requested while she sank back into the armchair and removed the fake fur from around her neck.

As she did this, a waft of heavy perfume blew into my face, which set off a coughing fit and had me momentarily gasping for air.

“Well while we’re here, you may as well turn this rubbish off and stick on some daytime telly, maybe a bit of ‘Afternoon Tea with Alan Dimbleby’.

I begrudgingly obliged and switched over to the terrestrial channels. Her favourite daytime talk show, hosted by a silky smooth perma-tanned presenter was on channel three.

‘Oh, I like this. I like him. He’s so dishy,” she said.

Stifling an urge to throw up, I yielded, and lent back into my double-stacked cushions. I sat through the entire show, an entire hour of my life I shall never get back, and all the while she gave a running commentary of the whole program. Now my relaxing day was turning into a hectic day, more stressful than actually being at work.  After a pause of several seconds she started up again.

“Since you split up with Celia you’ve not been yourself, your behaviour has change. How long has it been? Six months? Maybe it’s time for you to find yourself another girlfriend.”

“Mum, I’m fine.”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure.”

With that, she got up to use the toilet and I got up and paced the flat looking at my watch wondering where the day had gone. It was after five and I was starting to fray at the edges, my me time had been supplanted by mum time. She came out of the bathroom with her thin lips pressed tight and I knew something else was up. 

“That bathroom needs a good clean, parts of it are disgusting, got things growing in there.”

“I cleaned it last Sunday,” I said.

“That’s not clean, you need one of those HazMat suits to go in there.”

“Sure mum.”

“Well, I’d better be going. Oh actually I’ll have another cuppa before I go, I’m parched.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“But not so much milk this time, last one was too weak.”

“Yes mother.”

“Ooh and I’d love a biscuit. Got any custard creams?”

“I’ll go and look.”

And then, as I entered the kitchen, I tripped over her bag, pirouetted twice and rammed my head into the fridge door.

Next thing I know, I‘m waking up in an ambulance on the way to the local hospital, my mother sat beside me.

“Ah. You’re awake.” She said as we raced pell-mell through town.

“You’ve had an accident and banged your head. You were in and out of consciousness and mumbling. Thought I’d call an ambulance.”

Ten minutes later I’m being wheeled into the hospital. The doctor checked me over and said I was suffering from concussion and that I must stay in overnight for observation. I lay there in the hospital room with a bump the size of a tennis ball on my head flicking through the channels on the television. I stopped at a Liam Neeson movie and slowly drifted off to sleep.