How "Miss Scrooge" Stole Christmas!

There was an old painter, dressed in worn out clothes and wearing a pair of rugged boots, sitting on a bench in the park near our house. He had a thick blue scarf wrapped around his neck and one of those old-fashioned hats, that make you think of a Humphrey Bogart movie, on his head. Snow was falling all around him, covering the trees and the ground, but he didn't seem to notice. He had a sketch-book and a bunch of pencils in one hand, and was trying to draw something in black and white, while all the world was passing him by, as though he did not exist. I didn't know the man, tis' was the first time I laid my eyes on him, but Michael spotted him from ten feet away and headed straight for him. I followed, even though I couldn't figure out why my husband would be so interested in the works of an unknown painter... Michael's not the greatest admirer of art, if we don't count music and sculptures. Paintings are not his thing! Still, he seemed very eager to talk to old "Bogie" and I was kind of interested to find out the reason...

All of a sudden, Michael turned on his heel and stopped right in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders in a decisive gesture. There was something very... dark and mysterious in his green, green eyes and it made my pulse speed up and my tongue flicker out to lick my suddenly dry lips.

"I have a surprise for you", Michael said in that low voice of his, that clearly said he expected me to protest or say something to spoil the moment (which I didn't by keeping my mouth shut). I just blinked long lashes at him, tilted my head to the side and waited for him to continue. For a moment there, my lack of response seemed to unnerve him, then he regained his composure and said. "I have an idea. Why don't you walk ahead of me and I'll see you home in... 15 minutes, let's say?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, as I've never been keen on surprises and that definitely felt like one,  but said nothing and just nodded. When I want to be, I can be a model wife. Though most of the time that just feels like too much of an effort... Still, it seemed to make Michael happy and he gave me a broad boyish smile, before kissing me on the lips for a moment and then turning back to go talk to the painter. I watched him walk away in the snow, blond hair blowing in the wind, his back straight and his step determined, and for a few seconds there my heart ached. 

Then I did what I'd promised and headed home, wondering why I'd had to play "adventuress" and wear high heels in the snow. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but for what reason... The answer to that question seemed to evade me! So I tried not to think about it and to just enjoy the soft, silent falling of the snow, the Christmas decorations, glowing brightly and colourfully from the shops, the people with their long coats and big bags walking down the side-walks, talking and smiling and laughing, the sounds of London and the falling darkness...

I'd gotten so carried away by the Christmas spirit, who'd obviously possessed all of London, that I didn't even notice the short elderly lady, with the grumpy look and sway of walking, that came out of a brightly glowing store and, doing her best impression of Ebenezer Scrooge (the principal character in Charles Dickens' novel "A Christmas Carol"), headed in my direction. She seemed angry for some reason, but thinking about it I decided that I've never really seen Miss Picksby look like anything else, so it probably wasn't some poor shop-assistant's fault... Though said assistant might have had to endure yet another one of those angry fits Miss Picksby is so keen on.


She had barely reached my side, when she threw her hands in the air and said in a load, exasperated tone:


"Ah, Mrs. Halliwell, please do tell me, what kind of absurdity is that?! Christmas lights all over the place, snow falling like mad, and those stores..." She snorted in disgust. "What's the point of putting all those glowing lights, when you're windows are..." She seemed to get angrier by the minute. "What?! Haven't they heard that there are certain window cleaning London companies?! And the offices? Christmas toys, tress... But what about all that dirt and dust? Didn't anyone think of sweeping it?! There are..."


"...office cleaning London services", I finished for her and nodded. "I know, Miss Picksby, it is dreadful!" It was kind of hard to keep the irony out of my voice. "Just try to take a dee breath and calm down..."


"Clam down?!" She exploded. "Calm down?! O, dear, how can one stay calm..."


And that was the last of her nonsense I heard. Sometimes, being able to shut down and just nod politely is the best skill a person can acquire through trial and error. Don't believe me? Well, try listening to Miss Picksby rage about... something... anything... for thirty minutes, without even pausing to take a breath...


Then we'll talk!