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12 Days of Christmas

This week, our resident bitch, Sally Sampson writes about festivity, about family, about fun and most importantly, about the phenomenon that is her mother.

My mother looks at me from time to time, and I know what she’s thinking.  I say ‘looks’; what I really mean is ‘glares repulsively at my sorry ass’. 

She’s a treasure my mother; just as all mothers are and God knows I love her to bits, but she is the only person capable of making me laugh, cry, scream and pull at my eye lashes, all simultaneously (she also has this effect on a number of people, so it’s not ‘just because she’s my mother’, if that’s what you’re thinking).

Of course, the silver lining of that is that she is my never-ending well of comedy. And, of course, with the Christmas spirit upon us and with the year coming to a close, she has naturally, as all Egyptian mothers do on festive occasions, taken it a couple of hundred notches up on the comments, dirty looks and general insults that are hurled in my direction. Although, another thing I am happy for is that what is being hurled at my head these days are comments, and not her shoes, as was the case growing up. But this is not the time to take that up… (My therapist might be getting a call later on though).

This is a post about festivity, about family, about fun and most importantly, about the phenomenon that is my mother. This one is for her because I feel that she has so much to say to me on any given day, but she just isn’t as articulate as she could be about things that aggravate her. My mother is not artistic. She does not break into song and dance at every given moment (like certain members of her offspring) and she does not believe that her whole life will one day be made into a movie…BUT she is a drama queen. As am I, and with a penchant for the artistic myself, I have decided to culminate all of my mother’s frustration and encapsulate it in the Christmas spirit. I don’t think this blunts it at all, but it makes me laugh.

I present to you the new and improved, the revised and the remixed version of the Christmas classic: the 12 Days of Christmas à la my mother.  Here is the instrumental version of the song, so sing along to this soon-to-be timeless rendition expressing my mother’s vexation and exasperation.  Ready….

On the first day of Christmas, my mother said to me:
“Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the second day of Christmas, my mother disclosed to me:
“You’re getting too old! Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the third day of Christmas, my mother cried to me:
“In five years you’ll be thirty! You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the fourth day of Christmas, my mother pleaded me:
“I want to see my grandkids! In five years you’ll be thirty!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the fifth day of Christmas, my mother stopped and screamed:
“My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! I promise you…
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the sixth day of Christmas, my mother squealed at me:
“Tell me if you’re a lesbian!
My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! Only five years…!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the seventh day of Christmas, my mother complained about me:
“Oh God, she’s so stubborn. I think she’s a lesbian!
My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! Thirty, you idiot!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the eighth day of Christmas, my mother yelled at me,
“You’re what’s going to kill me!
Oh God, she’s so stubborn. I think she’s a lesbian!
My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! I said thirty!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the ninth day of Christmas, my mother bitch-slapped me:
“You’re not a virgin, are you? You’re what’s going to kill me!
Oh God, she’s so stubborn. I think she’s a lesbian!
My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! 30 years!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the tenth day of Christmas, my mother asked of me:
“Where did I go wrong?
“You’re not a virgin, are you? You’re what’s going to kill me!
Oh God, she’s so stubborn. I think she’s a lesbian!
My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! In five years…!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my mother exclaimed to me:
“I’ve washed my hands of you.
Where did I go wrong?
“You’re not a virgin, are you? You’re what’s going to kill me!
Oh God, she’s so stubborn. I think she’s a lesbian!
My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! Khalas, you know!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

On the twelfth day of Christmas my mother yelled at my father and declared to me:
“There’s nothing better than marriage.
I’ve washed my hands of you.
Where did I go wrong?
“You’re not a virgin, are you? You’re what’s going to kill me!
Oh God, she’s so stubborn. I think she’s a lesbian!
My blood pressure’s RISING!
I want to see my grandkids! THIRTY, THIRTY, THIRTY!
You’re getting too old!
Oh why, oh why aren’t you married?”

Happy Holidays everybody!

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An actress, singer, writer and overall entertainer, Sally always has something to say. She holds dear the words of her beloved Oscar Wilde – “If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you!”  - and aspires to make a change wherever she goes by being bold, brash and giving it the ‘ol’ razzle dazzle’ whenever she can. Blogging exclusively for CairoScene.com, Sally Sampson lets out her inner BITCH…


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