Alternative title: It’s nearly that time of year when I have to pretend that I’m not a miserable sod and spend ‘quality’ time with the family…I will probably spend the majority of it listening to my womb shrieking as relatives interrogate me over my lack of spawning (trust me the world is just not ready for that) and picking up my rather drunk gran when she falls in her own vomit in the garden.
“What are you thinking of getting your brother for Christmas”? mum asked while skipping through the various hair removal treatments on Wowcher (not sure I’d trust someone to trim my lady-garden if I was paying them £3 or something equally as insulting).
“I don’t know…I thought about buying him some Shreddies” I sipped at my cuppa.
“Cereal? For Christmas?! Really Ruebi?” she stopped on an advert for back waxing and scowled (I assumed at the dawning realisation that there must be some really hairy gits out there).
“No…Shreddies…Flatulence filtering grundies…The house smells like butt when he comes home and not in an ‘accidental poot’ sort of way, I’m talking farts bordering on sharts”.
“I have no words” she shook her head before retreating to the kitchen.
“Farticles mother! Farticles!” I yelled after her.
I’m usually well prepared when it comes to the art of gift buying, in previous years I have been so prepped that I feared I was turning into Kirstie Allsopp (she had some craft type show at one point…without Phil Spencer and the awkward flirting that once reduced me to a puking mess when my TV got stuck on a “Location, Location, Location” marathon). This year though, this year I have no freaking clue. It’s slightly worrying to the point I may just buy everyone a pair of unicorn slippers and have done with it. Everyone loves unicorns right?
The only gift more amazing than this would be an actual unicorn (called Stefan)…or me suddenly developing back dimples (don’t look at me like that, we all know that the world would be a much nicer place if I had back dimples).
Anyway, my facebook timeline is full of those utter turd-bags who have already completed all of their shopping and who are now focussing on creating the most smug (but totally not cryptic) statuses in the history of all smug-but-totally-not-cryptic-facebook-statuses. Quite frankly it annoys me and part of me hopes that I end up battling with them over the last frozen turkey or bag of sprouts in the local Tesco on Christmas Eve (no doubt I’ll have already put my foot through the self-service checkouts when buying Tampons earlier in the day)…I fight dirty, there will be custard and flour everywhere!
I know I should be more annoyed at myself for being so disorganised but you know what, I’m not (yet)…because it’s still November! I get that the stores have been playing festive tunes since the ass end of September to try and trick my brain into thinking that I need that red sparkly tinsel or box of shortbread, but so far I’ve been immune to it (which may be due to battling chainsaw wielding zombies at Halloween and my obsession with fireworks)…Even Monty the Penguin has failed to convince me that I need to throw my wallet (yes I have a wallet, not a purse) at a cashier in exchange for a pile of tat that won’t get used or thought of after the big day. I still have £1 horror movies in shrink wrap from last year, not entirely sure why my brother thought I would appreciate “Slutty Nun Machete Madness Parts 1 and 2” (or something like that) on DVD but there you go.
If I’m being honest, until we end up with a decorated tree in the front room for the pup to pee on I probably won’t be part of the Christmas countdown crew.
Does anyone else feel like this?
R x (Full-time miserable git and Scrooge-in-training)