A tequila tea-party

I peered into Matt’s cupboard to see if he had anything reasonably comfortable for me to borrow. Tomorrow was the first day of registration and I had failed to think ahead when I ran out of the house in the morning.

“Erm… Matt. Can I ask why the hell you have a pair of leather pants and a whip hanging next to your Christian Dior suit?”

“Some questions just aren’t worth answering!” he shouted from the kitchen. Perhaps my investigation into his choice of clothing could wait for another day. But the image of him in leather, wielding a whip continued to float uneasily before me – until thankfully I was snapped out of this daydream by the door bell.

“Ooh, just in time for tequila!” shouted Matt as he skipped to the door.

“Who is it?” I asked, uneasily.

“Your guardian angel” said Fiona as she stumbled through the door, dragging a gigantic duffel bag behind her. “And you owe me, big time.”

I flung myself into my sister’s arms. She was exactly the person I needed to see.

“Tequila!” I said. “Stay!”

“Wow, only one afternoon out of the house and on your own and already you’ve lost the ability to string a coherent sentence together. Good God woman, pull yourself together! I’ll stay for just one tequila and then I have to get back to Mark and the kids. They’re desperate for information – ‘Where’s Jay, is she pregnant, is there someone else involved, why won’t she marry Jeffrey?’ So believe me – I didn’t come here to comfort you – I came to get away from their questions! I wish I could’ve just said you’ve contracted leprosy and won’t be available for marriage any time soon.”

“Well, thanks anyway. What’s the news from the hellhole?”

“Listen missie, I had to do serious damage control when you ran out of the house. Jeffrey looked like he was about to pass out. And mom was so red she looked ready to burst. I had to try to get Jeffrey to lie down while convincing mom you wouldn’t be back for a while.  They both ended up having to lie down for a while. Jeffrey with a wet compress and mom with a glass of wine.”

Typical, I thought. A wet fucking compress. Arsehole.

Fiona threw the duffel bag onto the couch. “Here are your essentials – toiletries, five party dresses, enough work clothes for a week, six pairs of stilettoes, your favourite Nietzsche, your pens and paper, a hairdryer, bras, panties… Oh… by the way, after mom got up she was a bit crazed, and she kind of torched your panty collection. Your lace panty collection, the one you keep in a special drawer.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “Mom torched my panty collection? How did she even know I had a panty collection?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That collection cost me at least 2000 bucks! “What do you mean, she torched it?!”

“It was partly my fault, I guess. I was sorting through them to bring you a selection when she walked in. She took one look and went into hysterics. Talked about the sanctity of marriage and how you’d ‘spoiled’ yourself. I mean, actually, Jay, some of those panties were quite hectic…”

“What’s your point?” I asked. “Panties are fantasy items. Fantasies are private. And if by chance they do come to light, no conclusions can be drawn from them.”

“I don’t want to get into an argument about your panties, all right? The point is, mom started telling me this story about how she once found a pair of lacy panties in her bed and that’s how she knew Dad was cheating on her.”

“Holy shit, that is not good.” I was completely flabbergasted. Who knew my panty drawer would’ve reminded mom of my dad’s philandering ways?

“So anyway, she grabbed the whole lot, and before I could stop her she was outside at the barbeque squirting lighter fluid onto them and tossing a match at them. She kept on talking about unfaithfulness and the sanctity of marriage. It took me a while to get her back inside. She singed her hair a little bit.”

“Is she okay?” I was still furious at her, of course, but I did feel a little guilty that I had brought back painful memories. Sometimes I think my whole existence brings back painful memories for my mom.

“She’s fine,” sighed Fiona. “But I think she really hates you right now.”

“Just desserts!” chimed in Matt.

Fiona shot him a wry smile. “Look, she was mad. And she’s been mad for a long time. She hasn’t been able to control you for ages, and that bugs her. She wants what’s best for you, but she has rather… orthodox ideas of what’s best. A good husband, good manners, and demure panties I think about sums it up.”

“I know,” I sighed Jay. “It’s okay. I just hope she gets over it.”

“This is why I don’t date women, you’re so damn depressing. Drink up!” said Matt as he placed lemon, salt and three very full tequila shot glasses on the table.

“Wait!” I said. “A toast. Fiona, will you do the honours?”

“To torched panties, dodging bullets and the first decent drama of the year.” Fiona picked up her glass and looked at me. “And to your job. I hope you have a great time lecturing. And I hope you find comfort in the knowledge that you will never be able to afford a ring like the one Jeffrey bought you...”

“Ooh, cruel bitch” Matt said. We down our tequilas and grimaced.

“Tomorrow’s another day Jay, don’t stress.” Fiona leant over and kissed me on the cheek.

“Yip,” I said. “Blooming registration. At least I’ll have something to do to distract me. I’ll list all the different and unusual ways I can earn money to reconstitute my panty collection.”

Why was Fiona giving me the evil eye? She opened her mouth to speak, stopped and then said: “Just don’t go off on a tangent and meet some crazy guy, okay? I know what you do when you’re… you know, unattached.”

“No worries, Fi. I’m stuck at university anyway, and it’s not like I’m going to find anyone there. I’ll be entertaining myself for a while, don’t worry.”