I’m Mary and I probably make you uncomfortable.
Not just because of my shiny raven tresses and red wine lips, or my teeth so white like driven snow, or my laugh that tinkles like Christmas bells.
Although those things will piss you off, I know.
But most people are uncomfortable around me because I’m uncommonly good at many things.
I don’t need to drink to be a sparkling conversationalist, but I can hold enough liquor to make Ernest Hemingway look like an 18 year old at Schoolies Week. I prefer restaurants but I can cook like an angel. I routinely run sub-4 marathons without training and can effortlessly heave an unwelcome guest over my shoulder to evict him.
I’m that sort of woman.
All bad news if you’re standing next to me, trying to get your share of attention. Good news if you’ve got a dilemma. Especially a Christmas dilemma.
Now some might say I’m an asshole for saying this, but it’s the truth. And not everyone can handle the truth. So I keep my identity under wraps, because it’s just easier for us all that way.
But know this; above all, I’m an old-school hostess. I throw a fabulous party and I can identify a bad one the moment the invitation is issued. I know good manners and poor behaviour and I know that good manners do not always a good party make. A little well-placed spice can improve any dish.
And any Christmas.
There are more steps in my family than St Paul’s Cathedral, drinkers and teetotallers, atheists and religious-zealots. You can’t surprise me, nor can you throw me. I can accommodate all types.
So throw me your worst, give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe and I’ll tell you how to make a great Christmas out of it. Maybe not for everyone, but for you.