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I loathe Christmas. In fact I loathe any prescribed festivity which obliges one to feign good will towards people one is at best indifferent to at all other times. Christmas is especially vile since the people most likely to go into a huff over the gift you?ve bought them are those who have spent weeks telling you, ?It?s the thought that counts.? And you can?t go shopping without being force fed trite sentiment masquerading as music, much as turkeys are twice-stuffed, alive and dead. I said as much to my wife, when the annual invitation arrived from Benjamin and Anne Taylor.?Don?t be silly,? Sandra told me. ?It?ll be nice to socialize properly for a change.? I had no idea why my wife regarded indulging in silly games to be an instance of socializing properly. Presumably she was thinking more of the explicit ban on personal electronic devices contained in the invitation.?There?s a reason the smartphone and the iPad were invented,? I said darkly.?It?s no use complaining,? Sandra said. ?We can?t not go. You know that perfectly well.?I sighed, eyeing the invitation theatrically. ??Christmas themed dress?,? I muttered. Please tell me you?ve thrown out those ridiculous green tights you forced me to wear last year.??Don?t be such a Scrooge,? Sandra said.Now there was an idea. The next day I visited a fancy dress outfitters, where a very patient young woman furnished me with the necessary Victorian costume, including a stovepipe hat, wire-framed glasses and a rather fetching watch chain. Sandra rolled her eyes when she saw me. ?What do you expect me to go as? Scrooge?s wife???I don?t think Scrooge was married,? I said.?I imagine his wife divorced him,? Sandra said darkly.But of course my choice couldn?t be undone without running to extra expense, so on the evening I arrived at the Taylors? as Ebeneezer Scrooge, with my wife attired in something vaguely middle eastern that I thought made her look suitably like the Ghost of Christmases Past, though I deemed it prudent not to say so.?You can?t get hold of good myrrh for love nor money these days,? I told our hosts. ?So you?ll have to make do with the usual bottle of plonk.??David!? my wife exclaimed, looking embarrassed to be offering the bottle, as well she might. The other half of the 2 for 1 offer at the local supermarket was waiting at home. ?Behave!? The Taylors exchanged glances, but I didn?t care. We?d all been here and done this before; last year, and the year before that, and the year before the year before the year before.?Bah, humbug!? I intoned loudly, immediately attracting the attention of other guests.Those other guests included an impossibly large assortment of elves, a sprinkling of angels, and a couple of Virgin Marys. There was also a Mr and Mrs Santa, who neither my wife nor I had met before. They were introduced to us as Daniel and Carol Walker. ?Have you been good this year?? Daniel Ümraniye Escort enquired, as if we were errant children. Carol gave him a look of scorn that endeared her to me at once.?Aren?t you supposed to keep tabs on us all throughout the year?? I asked.?David!? my wife hissed, elbowing me in the side. Mr Santa gave the kind of worried frown that suggested he wasn?t sure it was worth the trouble clambering down my chimney, while his wife flashed me an appreciative smile.I was rather flattered by this. She may have come dressed as Mrs Santa, but like no Mrs Santa Disney would ever dare to invent; a dress modelled as a coat that ended so high up her thighs that the fur trim didn?t even meet the tops of her hold-ups (patterned with red and white hoops). The garment was also cut in such a way as to invite a man to gaze longingly on her bosom. It was impossible for me not to think of her as Mrs Slutty Claus, and I soon discovered that Mr Santa was none too pleased at the appreciative glances she attracted from the other men.Well at least there was one upside to the evening, I thought. Unfortunately it was almost immediately overshadowed by the downside: Benjamin?s and Anne?s weird mix of 19th and 21st century.It started with Anne playing the part of the ugly sister in any one of a shoal of Victorian novels, whose only function seems to be to accompany herself on the piano at social occasions. A medley of sentimentality followed, with people actually joining in. Perhaps it wouldn?t have been so bad, except Benjamin and Anne didn?t actually have a piano, but they did have a synthesizer which was set to replicate the 1980?s, when two bars of any intro alerted you to this being a song about the children being our future, or any ballad by Lionel Richie.What followed was even worse. A quiz. Benjamin played ten seconds of what he felt pleased to call ?festive favourites,? a fine euphemism for some of the most hideous crimes ever perpetrated in the name of music, and invited us in turn to name the artist. When he turned to me, I couldn?t bring myself to admit that I did indeed know the answer, feeling that so doing would have been more embarrassing than splitting my britches.?But you must know!? Benjamin exclaimed as I feigned bewilderment.?I know one thing,? I said. ?The song makes no sense. If the singer really had given someone his heart last Christmas, he?d hardly be around to tell the tale this Christmas. Especially if the recipient thoughtfully donated it to charity.??It?s metaphorical!? someone called out, as if describing clichéd lyrics with polysyllables could somehow elevate them to pure art.?David! Behave!? my wife snapped.?Bah, humbug!? I retorted, resulting in a black look that told me that perhaps I would be wise to make myself scarce for a while.So I went outside for a cigarette. I was supposed to have Ümraniye Escort Bayan abandoned the habit, but faced with the present event, I?d re-acquired my annual death wish and concealed a packet in a deep Victorian pocket. There was a narrow passageway between house and garage where I knew from experience I would be hidden from view. Except that suddenly I found myself coming face to face with Mrs Slutty Claus in mid puff. ?Hello!? I said. ?I didn?t see you slip out.??Keeping your eye on me, were you?? she said. ?Lord knows everyone else is.?She didn?t sound too put out about it, so I allowed myself to point out, ?You can hardly blame them.?Carol took a long drag on her cigarette. ?Dan?s too nice to turn down the invitation, so I go the naughty route just to spite him.? She sighed. ?What?s your excuse???An allergic reaction to sanctimonious bollocks.?Mrs Slutty Claus threw back her head and laughed. ?Did you come out here voluntarily or were you thrown out???Ten minutes? penance for inappropriate behaviour.??And here was I thinking I had a monopoly on inappropriate.?We sucked on our cigarettes in silence for a moment. It was impossible not to wonder exactly how inappropriate Mrs Slutty Claus was prepared to be. By now I?d had just enough to drink to not care that I was eyeing her stocking tops and cleavage in a very obvious manner. Not that anything would come of it. We were both married, however annoyed we were with our spouses. Besides, anyone might poke their head round the corner at any moment.?Are we the only smokers still standing?? I asked.?Bunch of freaks,? Carol replied. ?What?s the point of a party if you can?t live unhealthily for a change???There are sausages on sticks,? I ventured.?Now I?m as fond of a good sausage as the next girl,? Carol said. ?But those things are puny.?She was looking at me in a certain way, as if willing me to latch on to the salacious innuendo. ?Now you really are sounding like Mrs Slutty Claus,? I said, inadvertently voicing my private name for her. She raised an eyebrow, and I instinctively backtracked. ?I?m sorry??Carol cut me off. ?Don?t bother playing nice,? she said. ?I?ll be as naughty as you want me to be.?I took a drag on my cigarette, trying to figure her out. Was she really coming on to me? For the first time that evening, words failed me.She fixed me with cool blue eyes. ?What good?s a party if you don?t do something you come to regret in the morning?? she said.I found my tongue again. ?Interesting philosophy.?Carol smiled and took a final drag on her cigarette. Since Benjamin and Anne hadn?t bothered to put out an ashtray she merely dropped the butt on the concrete and stamped on it. ?Not that I'm the type to harbour regrets. Maybe I?ll see you out here later???I don?t think there are any maybes about it,? I said.I watched as Mrs Slutty Claus Escort Ümraniye departed to go indoors. I certainly wasn?t imagining things, she really did wiggle her bum at me as she did so. I finished my cigarette, then smoked another for good measure. I wasn?t about to ransack my conscience about being married. It was obviously an unusually bold flirtation, a bit of a thrill, a private joke between two people briefly allied over their distaste of the circumstances in which they found themselves.Back inside I was cornered by a man who looked as if he?d torn down every curtain in the house and draped himself in them. He was carrying a miniature astrolabe and saw fit to lecture me enthusiastically on how the magi were really astrologers, is if I was ignorant of this. I endured for as long as I decently could, before saying, ?You?re obviously a wise man.? Not wise enough to be alerted to the sarcasm. He laughed as if it was the funniest thing he?d ever heard.?Very droll!? he dribbled.I kept an eye out for Mrs Slutty Claus, without making it obvious. She was still being ogled by every man in the room, and her husband was looking very unhappy. Well, that was his problem. I rejoined Sandra, who was deep in conversation with another couple about recipes for stuffing and vegan turkey. ?Let them eat Brussels sprouts!? I opined.?David,? my wife chided. ?That?s not helpful!??Bah, humbug!? I cried, immediately attracting everyone?s attention.Benjamin chose this as his cue, letting me off the hook. ?Listen up everybody! It?s time for charades!?Just when you thought things couldn?t get any worse. I manoeuvred myself to the back of the room, desperate to keep out of the firing line. Neither team seemed keen to admit me, and I certainly wasn't going to force the issue. Carol had already had the same idea. ?What?s her problem?? I whispered, nodding at the women who was first up, supposedly acting out the title of a piece of music. She?d arrived smiling and draped in tinsel, now she just looked like the Ice Queen.?Her husband tried to grab my bum when he thought she wasn?t looking,? Carol whispered back. ?And she?s not best pleased about it. He?ll be for it later.?The woman was making an odd hand-wringing gesture with an angry scowl on her face, and I couldn?t help myself. ?The Nutcracker Suite!? I cried. Heads turned. Carol did her best to stifle a fit of the giggles.?David! Stop misbehaving! It?s not funny!? Sandra snapped.?Bah, humbug!? I exclaimed, leaving the room. If I hadn?t had enough before, I certainly had now. Sandra knew perfectly well how much I hated being here, and now she was scolding me as if I were a small child. Perhaps I was behaving like a resentful teenager, but even resentful teenagers may have good reasons for bad behaviour.I?d just about had time to light a cigarette when Carol appeared. She winked at me. ?Are you always this naughty?? she asked.I shrugged. Her flirtatiousness made my resentment crumble. ?Only when I?m required to be nice.? Noticing that she wasn?t carrying anything, I offered her a cigarette. She took one with nimble fingers and allowed me to light it for her. I watched as Carol took a drag, the smoke lingering as she exhaled.