NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION

 NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION

By Bob French

Humphrey sat back and looked down at the Christmas presents he had just received from the tree by the hand of his sister Jean.  As he contemplated them, he noticed that his and all the other presents were wrapped in the same wrapping paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dorothy’s face turn to thunder as she unwrapped her presents, but thought nothing of it.  Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by Jim, Jean’s brother, a rough and ready builder by trade, who slumped down beside him.

“Hay Humph, how you doing mate?  Haven’t seen you since we went on that boat trip down the Thames last summer.  You know, when you puked all over Mother and little Christine.”  His voice carried across the room, causing many to laugh at him and some to groan.

Jim was about twenty-five; tanned, with ice blue eyes, and built like an Irish toilet.  His lack of decorum was made up by his fast-talking wit and charm which he used on the ladies, regardless of their age.

“Fine Jim, how’s business with you? keeping busy?” Humphrey knew that when speaking to Jim, it was best to stick to subjects he knew about rather than the cost of living or the war in Ukraine.

“Made a couple of grand last month renovating an old house over in Wickford.  It was owned by some ponce who had retired from the Conservative Party or something.  And you?  Still, pushing your pen around ledgers?

Humphrey was an accountant and had been since leaving school.  He had, as suggested by his father, started at the bottom, but instead of rising slowly through the ranks, he had stayed at the bottom. Overlooked and regularly criticized by his managers as being too slow and a little too honest.  This last misdemeanor had caused him the loss of Mildred, his wife of some ten years.

Mildred was the daughter of Roger Harvest, the manager of the local bank and when Mildred mentioned that her husband was an accountant, Roger thought to push some business his way.  That was the first mistake because after Humphrey had gone through the books, he found that Roger had omitted to declare a number of taxes to Her Majesties Inspector of Taxes.  Secondly, rather than sit down with Roger and explain his findings and then how he could overcome the issue, he informed the tax man, causing the preverbal poo hit the fan.

The first he knew something was amiss was when he was called into his boss’s office, and after an hour of being yelled at and criticized for being incompetent and a dead weight in the company, was told to get out.

That night as he pushed his front door open, he felt the place cold. After calling out for Mildred and getting no reply, started to slowly search his home. He found her letter on the kitchen table.  She had left him, claiming that what he had promised her on their wedding day of being a successful accountant and living in a nice house in Billericay with a car each and a couple of kids, had failed to materialize. Now alone, his sister Jean had taken pity on him and included him in any family celebrations.  He had always found an excuse to duck out of these events, but this year, he had failed to convince her, and so, was duty bound to attend.  Her parting words were “Don’t bother to bring presents, I’ve bought everyone a present or two.”

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two children giggling behind the sofa but chose to ignore them.  He hated kids, especially those two brats belonging to Jean.  Arrogant, spoilt and rude. He recalled the time when he had been given a plastic bottle of water at the family summer picnic and after a brisk game of football with the family, had sat down next to Jean’s beautifully laid out picnic, took a deep swig from the bottle, only to find it was pure gin.  He had swallowed two or three deep gulps before realizing what he was drinking, then vomited up the foul-tasting alcohol, all over Jean’s masterpiece.

Since then, Humphrey was always on guard when these two miscreants were nearby.

It was nearing nine at night when Humphrey made his apologies and left, taking his unopened Christmas presents with him.  As he left, Jean quietly mentioned that if he didn’t like the presents, he could take them back to the House of Fraser down at Lakeside and they would give him a credit note.

A few days before New Year’s day, Jill popped her head around his door.

“Hey, have you heard?  The boss is throwing a work’s New Year’s party in a restaurant down by the House of Fraser in Lakeside. You coming?”

Humphrey had liked Jill, but being married, felt that she was out of bounds and was about to decline her invitation, then realised that he could pop into the House of Fraser, exchange his unopened Christmas presents, then join the party.

“Jill, I’d love to come.”

The journey down to Lakeside was sadly lacking in Christmas or New Year’s spirit.  As he stepped down from the minibus he called out.

“I’m just going to change my Christmas presents at The House of Fraser.  I’ll meet you all in the restaurant,” and started to walk away from his work colleagues who had already started to window shop.

“Hang on Humph, we’ll come with you.  I have heard that the House of Fraser has a great New Year window display,” yelled one of the girls.  Humphrey spun around to see that the girls, led by Jill from the typing pool, and a few of the senior managers, had decided to join him.

In his defense, he called out that “It’s OK, they always buy me things that I don't need, you know, men’s things.” Thinking that he did not need to explain that every Christmas he always got socks or handkerchiefs.

He finally found the customer care counter and was a little surprised to find it busy, but more concerning, was that everyone seemed to have followed him into the store.

“Good evening, Sir.  How can I help you?”  The woman was in her early twenties and wore a badge that declared her to be a trainee.

“Yes, good evening, Miss.  These are my Christmas presents which I wish to hand back and obtain a credit note please.”

“Certainly Sir, let me unwrap them for you.  By this time everyone had gathered around Humphrey, eager to see what he had received for Christmas. All of a sudden those around him fell silent and Humphrey looked back into the face of the young trainee, who had started to blush.

“What is it?”

Very slowly the young woman pulled out a pair of black stockings, a bright red garter, a matching garter belt, and a pair of scanty black lace knickers.

No one spoke for a few seconds, then Jill, who had been standing next to him quietly whispered to him, with a grin on her face.

“Humph you dirty old man.  If I knew you were kinky, I’d have bought you something like these ages ago.”

Suddenly everyone was laughing at him, but Jill, realizing his dilemma and quietly took his hand and squeezed it.

Before he could snatch the other unopened present from the trainee, she had ripped off the wrapping paper and tore open the box which contained seven pairs of raunch knickers each with the day of the week and a very suggestive logo on each pair.

Humphrey suddenly leaned across the counter and grabbed at the wrapping paper.  Then he saw it.  Those two little devils had switched the labels on the Christmas presents.  It was then that the image of Dorothy’s expression flashed across his mind and he relised what they had done.

Suddenly everyone was laughing at the presents and not him.  Jill, who held onto him, leant into him and gave him a quick kiss, and whispered with a huge grin on her face, “You are naughty, but I like it.”

A couple of the senior managers slapped Humphrey on the back, grinning at him and wishing him a happy New Year. Then the whole party was moving towards the restaurant; the mood had changed; everyone was laughing and chattering and in high spirits. Jill had taken Humphrey by the hand and drifted to the back of the crowd as they entered the restaurant.

“So Humph, what is your New Year’s resolution?”

He smiled at her and then gently kissed her.  “I was wondering if you would like to come and live with me?”

With a huge grin on her face, she whispered into his ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Copyright Bob French