After yet another terrifying nightmare, my alarm shook me from my slumber. This time I was being chased by a murderous giant gingerbread man before being herded into a corner by Santa’s psychotic human flesh-eating reindeer.
As I patiently waited for my breathing to slow, I squinted at the clock. What the hell did I do with my glasses? Six thirty? Oh no, dad. I had to get a move on if I was going to drop both girls off, get dad’s medication, and drop it around to him before work.
I hurled some cereal into a bowl for Bella while using my foot to open the fridge to see if we had fresh milk. My other hand was attempting to rescue Cookie from the clutches of Laura. The poor dog looked as if she was about to lose an ear. ‘Look mummy, puppy reindeer.’
After separating the toddler from the canine, my phone alerted me to a new text message.
Have you not booked my flights yet?
What is going on with you?
My blood boiled as I daydreamed about what response I wanted to send back. It would have gone something like this.
No, I have not.
I am far too busy being a slave to everyone in this godforsaken household. I have a mammoth amount of work being slammed down my throat at work, and although I have a husband, I feel like a single mother. On top of all that, I am expected to be Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus, and all the fucking little elves rolled into one.
Here’s an idea. Book your own bloody flights, you passive aggressive bitch!
Instead, I sent a polite response while biting my tongue so hard I made it bleed. If she had the time to text me at six-forty-five in the morning, why couldn’t she find the time to book her plane ticket?
Unpublished Work (c) Hayley Walsh 2022