Free Whistling for the Elephants by Sandi Toksvig

Bewildered by the onslaught of people, he swayed slowly to his
feet and released a loud, dissatisfied explosion of gas as we stepped into the
hall. It mingled with Judith’s overwhelming perfume.
    Judith
sighed. ‘Oh God, ain’t it terrible. I cannot get him on his feet any more. Not
even for a walk. A WALK.’ She screamed the word at the dog but it was unmoved.
It had, I suspect, determined to dedicate the remainder of its life to
flatulence. ‘He won’t move from the door. I said to Harry we oughta just cut a
piece off the bottom of the door and open it over his head. Don’t stroke him,’
she said to Mother, who could never have been further from such a thought in
her life. ‘You look so lovely but he doesn’t expect it and it’ll make your hand
smell. I don’t know what it is. I’ve had him cleaned. It stays with you for
days. Judith sighed and then instantly brightened into a good hostess. So come
in, come in. Welcome to Our Home.’
    It
sounded like a welcome but in fact Judith was pointing out a large needlepoint
which said Welcome to Our Home in bright orange with a border of small
pumpkins. ‘I made it for Halloween, but everyone said it was so lovely I just
kept it right there.’
    The
house was perfect. I mean in that nothing was out of place. It was also tapestried
knick-knack heaven. Everything which could have been made out of canvas and
thread had been. Everything which deserved an embroidered motto got one. The keyring
holder by the hall window said
     
    You
Don’t Got to Look Far
    For
the Keys to the Car
     
    with hooks shaped round
pieces of an Oldsmobile in quilted fabric. The hat rack poked out from a major
piece of sewing of cats wearing fedoras with the words
     
    Hang
Your Hat on a Cat!
    You’re
Purrfectly Welcome.
     
    Small
wooden ducks rested on embroidered ponds, the banister of the main stairs had
an embroidered cover of ivy leaves, every door had a cheery sign indicating its
function in words with follow-up pictures in case you got confused. If I stood
still long enough I was fairly sure I too would be committed to wool in
surprising shades. Any remaining wall space was filled in by God blessing the
house in every possible manner, and at least ten different designs assured me
that Jesus was my friend. I liked that. I had been thinking about having Jesus
as my friend since I had seen the advice on a bumper sticker. I thought Jesus
being your friend would be a good deal because you wouldn’t have to worry about
getting cooties from drinking soda wrong. While I was having these revelations
Father was staring at me. My hat. He wanted me to take my hat off. I removed it
reluctantly and hung it on a cross—stitched Siamese.
    Through
an arch in the hall we could see into the sitting room. Judith swept us in on a
brief tour. It was obviously not where the party was happening. The furniture
was not designed for sitting on. It all looked very nice but was entirely
shrouded in clear plastic fitted covers. If you sat down you would either stick
to it or slide off in a second. In one corner there was a huge tropical-fish
tank, but the focus of the room was a fake fireplace surround above which hung
a painting of a girl. The picture was lit so that you couldn’t really look at
anything else. In another country you might have guessed that it was some
mystical shrine. Judith tottered toward it and leaned on the mantelpiece.
    ‘That’s
our Pearl. The pearl of our heart. Her papa’s pride and joy. Taken on her
sixteenth birthday. The photograph, that is. This is a real painting. Milo, at
the Toy Store? He does them from the photograph. He’s doing one of Rocco too.’
Judith sighed in wonder at the painting. ‘So much talent in a storekeeper. She’s
twenty now. Be twenty-one before you know it.’
    ‘She
looks lovely,’ murmured Father. Mother didn’t say anything. She was just
looking at the plastic on the sofa. ‘Uh… I’m looking forward to meeting her.’
Father marched the