Guess Who's Coming for Christmas Dinner

Could it really be a Christmas miracle?

Let's just say that things have been a bit... awkward between my mother and I after the recent coming out tea episode. While thankfully she hasn't freaked out and hired shady shrinks / wacky witchdoctors to rehabilitate my fabulous homosexual self, my mother isn't exactly embracing the entire alternative lifestyle plan either.

So whenever we speak on the phone, there's this wildly obvious pink elephant just left dangling up in the air.


Dang, am I feeling a bit of a chill here?
Perhaps it's like I've always said to everyone who has made a similar attempt to come out - my mother just needs time to fathom the metaphorical pink elephant swaying unmistakably about the room. Not to mention all the lies, deceit and duplicity that have been perpetuated over the years.

Since there was little mention of hiring a notorious assassin to decapitate our poor innocent hero Charming Calvin - the alleged seducer of her son - I figured all was well. At least she didn't call him up to regale him with an hour-long vitriolic diatribe like I feared!

Evidently it didn't take all that long for her to contemplate over the thorny issue. Or about Calvin's undisguised relation to me. In fact the wily woman coolly brought it up over a slice of banana cake.

Mom : By the way, please make sure Charming Calvin attends our Christmas dinner this year.
Paul : Any particular reason?
Mom : Was there any doubt of his invitation? Of course he should come. Why, he's almost family.
Paul : Well he should be.
Mom : And I have so many things planned for him this year.
Paul : Exactly what kind of things are you planning?
Mom : Why, all sorts of course.
Paul : That's not exactly comforting.
Mom : What do you mean!
Paul : Have you called up the homophobic villagers with the flaming pitchforks?
Mom : Goodness, what you think of me! I meant that Calvin could help out with our dinner plans. Why, he can even lend a hand with our giftwrapping as well.

From near-homophobic termagant to cordial society hostess in the course of two weeks? Affected by the palpable spirit of the season? Surely even my spectacularly evolved mother couldn't have made peace with the entire perverted my-son-is-a-homosexual situation in that short a period of time.

Something had to be afoot. Misliking the shockingly convivial twinkle in her eye, I immediately scrabbled for my cellphone wondering if I should warn Charming Calvin of the perils to come. Behold, there's poison? Things are starting to feel like an episode of Downton Abbey where matters of great importance hinges on the dramatic events that transpire over a fleeting meal.

Yes, I can't help it. Scorpios are always helluva suspicious.