HO HO HO! - A Christmas Special

Dearest Readers,

Thank you so much for reading the eighteen-odd episodes of 28 Days with Maman, which will be paused for a while as I’m off to India to meditate (medicate—with a t) and will be reporting back to you from there.

My present to you all (after my Christmas message) is a little story which I hope brings you a laugh.

Much love,

Ash

Christmas Message

Today is Christmas. I have not heard the name of the birthday boy mentioned once this month. I was telling this to my friend Jan, and she said her grandparents were religious and that their children (her parents) forbade them to talk to the grandchildren about religion, seeing distance from nature and spirituality as synonymous with progress.

They were progressive Westerners who believed man knows best. Western people tell their children, “One man will bring happiness to the world at Christmas,” and it is not Jesus but Santa.

Hollywood White

My thirtieth wedding anniversary was about to come up. Neither Moo Hefner (my ex-husband) nor I had ever really noticed anniversaries, as we had never really noticed each other.

But this year was different, and it was all because of Moo’s teeth.

Moo Hefner and I were a reasonably successful couple according to Monopoly, probably living on the orange squares with a bundle of children. We had a large white house, which I had saved from Moo Hefner’s hideous faux pillars by painting angels and stars on a large dome over the staircase.

The neighbour on the left, however—a bank teller with a penchant for knitting—could not help mentioning Moo Hefner’s new pillars, which he called une folie de grandeur in the local rag. This caused Moo to gnash his teeth, which was unfortunate, as they were not teeth sturdy enough for gnashing.

But if my neighbour and I thought Moo Hefner’s pillars were a little false, they were nothing compared to the new teeth he was about to flash around the neighbourhood.

Moo and I went to a very expensive dentist in Melbourne, where he had the option of glue-in dentures or screw-in implants—the difference in price a mere $30,000! But I, wanting only the best for Moo and being a lover of beauty, held his arm, squeezed it as lovingly as I could, and said, “They offer a payment plan.”

Let’s face it: I did not want to bump into Moo’s teeth without Moo—or Moo without his teeth.

The dentist, who asked to be called Tom in the manner of a too-friendly schoolteacher, handed us a colour chart with a plethora of versions of white—more whites than you could ever imagine.

Looking at Moo Hefner’s brown bottom teeth, Tom tried to suggest, as politely as he could, that teeth too brilliant would look like lost glow-worms hiding in the fissures of a gloomy cave. Tom suggested antique white, a colour somewhat like a dried white hydrangea.

“Oh yes,” I agreed with Tom. “Antique white is so classy.”

But Moo, who had never taken any interest in his appearance, pointed firmly at the most dazzling colour on the chart.

“That’s the one I want—no colour but that will do. Hollywood white!”

And that was when I knew Moo Hefner was having an affair.