Spoilt for choice

It starts as breakfast is being laid. "I've boiled eggs for everyone," the cook says. "I'd prefer pancakes," my daughter sulks. "Fruit," demands my son, who isn't given to talking much in the morning. "Idlis," suggests my wife - fortunately they're left over from the previous day when she'd declined them in favour of muesli - "but make me fresh chutney." "Toast," I request timidly, "with a fried egg perhaps." Unity isn't our family's strong point. My son wants strawberry shake, my daughter asks for cold coffee, my wife would like lime juice in warm water, I'll settle for a south Indian brew, "piping hot". That's before the packed lunch hullaballoo starts, my daughter insisting she can't carry pasta because "it's fattening", my son asking for "proteins, not carbs" to sustain him through his gym routine, while I'm lucky to get leftovers, the cook having reached the end of his tether by now.
 

"Why are all other families so supportive," I ask my wife, "and ours so obstructive?" "If you're trying to divert me from our holiday plans," my wife says smugly, "it's all fixed." The evening before, we'd sat around the dining table to discuss our summer vacation. "America," my wife's pick was based on her brother's insistence. "China," said my daughter, "I've even learnt Mandarin," which isn't strictly true, even though she apparently took lessons in university that at least taught her to pronounce "ni hao" with the right inflexion. My own hope to go further east to Cambodia and Laos isn't even considered. If at all there's consensus, it is that the trip must be funded entirely by me.

I've always envied friends who're quick to come to a common decision, but opting for an evening out on any special occasion in our household soon collapses under pent-up resentments. "Chinese," my son will stick to his choice of cuisine, causing his sister to wonder why we can't have pizza instead. "I could have cooked it better," my wife will point out later, when having run through the gamut of choices, we find ourselves back at the neighbourhood hotel coffee shop - for which I at least am thankful, since it allows me a discount.

Birthday gifts are instantly returned - thankfully, we've learned to buy from stores that have an exchange policy. Any change of linen, upholstery or wardrobe staples is met with derision. My wife's car needs replacement, but no one is in agreement on what she should drive. "Get a sports bike," my impractical son recommends - he wants one for himself - while my daughter pitches for a snazzy coupe for which, she says, "I'll contribute", having never forked out previously on any household expense, my wife is quick to point out. I reckon the car's good for a couple more years, but the driver wants an upgrade - he's ashamed of the cars we drive, he's told the children, because "they aren't cool".

Into this maelstrom, my mother's thrown an emotional googly. "I want to see my grandson settled" - her euphemism for married - "soon," leading to my daughter pulling out photographs of all his previous girlfriends "so we can eliminate the type we don't like", she positions herself as chief arbiter. "She must not be career-minded," my father recommends. "Just tell her not to get in my way," my wife is dismissive. "Don't I get a say in my choice of partner?" asks my son. I have a chuckle. He'll soon find out how irrelevant he is to his choice of spouse.