Family's day out

My wife pushed aside an elderly man, elbowed out a middle-aged auntyji, refused to give way to a newly-wed spouse, all of it to lay claim to the title of musical chairs champ on the family day organised at our son's office. No doubt it was intended to break the ice between people who till that day had been innocent of each others' existence, but who were now embarrassing themselves in a display of enforced bonhomie. Perhaps it had something to do with it being appraisal time in March, but if they were hoping to leverage lineage they'd have to do it without us. "If they play antakshari," I groaned, "or sing karaoke" - we're not your typical musical family - "I'm out of here."
 

"It'll be like a parent-teacher meeting," our son had declared gloomily the day the invitation had arrived in the post, getting increasingly jittery as the date came closer. He even returned a part of a loan he'd "borrowed accidentally" when he swiped my card instead of his at the ATM, minding his manners with his mother, and though he clearly needed it to bolster his confidence, he renounced his evening drink a few days prior to the office lunch as penance. "They'll try and get family secrets out of you," he cautioned us, "don't give in."

He escaped to the gym for a boost of positive endorphins before we began getting ready for lunch. Our choice of apparel he rejected, nervously muttering his way through our wardrobes to kit us out in what he hoped might pass scrutiny. We'd rejected getting there too early on account that it might show us up as too eager, but he worried that our late arrival might indicate a lack of interest, reflecting not so much on us as on him. When his seniors insisted on addressing us not by our names but as "uncle" and "aunty", our son whispered a hasty apology, promising to make amends so long as we didn't make a scene there, and I'm imagining painful retribution for when the time is right.

His boss got right down to it. "I think he's pampered at home," she said to us. "Tell me about it," said my wife, spilling the very confidences her son had sworn us into never sharing with his colleagues, who now knew he wanted breakfast in bed, would take the dog for a walk provided he'd already been fed and leashed, refused boring paperwork at home on account he had to do the same work in office, and spent his weekends holed up with friends, instead of pitching in with housework "so his wife is going to have a tough time", my wife rounded up on a note of motherly triumph.

The two finally decided what he required most was "marriage" and to "get out of the house" asap, which sentiments, however admirable, weren't likely to find favour with our son who wasn't above using his lawyerly skills to outwit his mother on a regular basis on both issues. Not that he need have worried, for driving back home, when our son wondered what we thought of his officewallahs, my wife sighed, "It's all right if you want cold coffee in bed, and you don't need to move out of home just because your boss says so," adding for good measure, "If anyone in office tries to bully you, remind them that your mother is a musical chairs champ" - though I'm at a loss how that counts for anything.