The uncomfortable conversation ended when Dad called me in to the kitchen to mash the carrots and turnips. Hannah was put on sprout duty. Our aunt, uncle and three cousins came just after noon and all of a sudden we had a houseful. Dad and his brother cracked tinnies. Mum and her sister-in-law sorted the finishing touches to the big Christmas dinner. We ate, pulled crackers, wore paper hats and forgot about them, ate pudding, talked, laughed and listened. Afterwards I helped my aunt clear the table. She told me I was being unusually quiet and asked if I’d had a nice day so far. “Yeah I guess.” I replied. Of all the cool gifts I’ve been given, only one stands out in my mind and that one gift has ruined my day, possibly my life. My only consolation is the fact that the source of my subdued mood is currently a taboo subject. I imagine that it wasn’t. Instead of being up in my room, it’s in the lounge, leant against all my other gifts. I imagine my aunt picking it up, commenting on it before being informed that it’s not one of Hannah’s gifts. I imagine my mother casually informing everyone that I’ve been borrowing my sisters undies for years and… I stop myself imagining the rest.

We watch TV, play games, eat, drink, be merry… well… they do. Not ten minutes passes by when I don’t think of the moment I unwrapped that gift. The moment that my excitement turned to one of fear, dread and shame. Dad keeps glancing at me. I wish he didn’t. Especially after something dawned on me… me and mum were up in my room for a while, so maybe… maybe he thinks I’m wearing the unwanted gift! God I hope not. What must he think of me? I ask myself. I chase the idea out of my mind. Mum would have told him, I expect, but that doesn’t stop it from popping back in to my mind. Later, I’m in the kitchen peeling strands of meat from the turkey’s carcass. Dad pops in to fetch yet more tinnies from the fridge. “You OK son?” he asked.

The question felt loaded, but maybe I’m just being paranoid. I told him I was, before quickly blurting “I’m not wearin’ it!”

“I didn’t think you were.” he replied. “Even if you was it’d be none of my business.” he added.

I hung my head and mumbled something vaguely resembling “I’m not.”

Dad was on his way out of the door but he paused, then back tracked. He stepped toward me and said. “Look son… there’s barely a bloke on this planet who hasn’t tried on their mum’s or sister’s things.” I gulped and skewed my chin, before raising my eyes. “Admittedly…” he began, “…most of them won’t admit it… for reasons I’m sure you understand…” he said. “…so don’t go asking every Tom, Dick or Harry…” he advised, before assuring me that it’s completely normal.

“It doesn’t feel normal.” I muttered.