Aunty Mayne

"I'm upset with you," she said when I saw her yesterday. I tried to work out which of the many, many things I had done wrong had ultimately offended her.
"You don't like your present?" I offered, putting my hand out to take it back (I like it too).
"I like my present," she said, grabbing the Japanese painting back before I had a chance to stick it in my bag.
"I didn't send you a Christmas card, even though you sent me one?"
"No, you didn't. But that's not it."
"I didn't send you a birthday present, even though you sent me one?"
"No, you didn't. But that's not it either."
I thought about it carefully.
"I still can't speak Japanese, even after eight months?" I'm upset with me about it, so it makes sense if she is too.
"Couldn't care less," she responded. "No: I'm upset because you never write about me in your blog."
"Oh."
"Just a little comment, that would make me happy. Just say how lovely I am, or how I'm your favourite aunt, or how nice my hair looks, or how much you miss me. I just want to be in it."
"You know she lies all the time anyway?" my sister interjected from the sofa, pointing at me. "Half the stuff she writes about me is made up: she makes me have conversations with her after she's already written them. It's like having a life script or something."
"That is outrageous," I said in the most insulted voice I could find. "I don't lie. I sometimes bend the facts a little. I was in PR for years: it's all I know how to do."
"I don't care. Lie as much as you want," my aunt said, clearly ignoring my defence. "Lie through your back teeth, and your front teeth too if you want. I just want to be in it. And that can be my birthday and Christmas present for last year and then we're quits."

So, Aunty, this is my gift to you. A silly little blog written from my bed at 4am on severe jetlag. Personally, I would have asked for socks. :)