Well for one it's not receiving the credit card bill in the post...
My stress levels continue to rise throughout December whilst I glare and mutter at the grid locked car parks in town trying in vain to either find a space or leave the blimmin place. Only when safely inside my metal box do I rant though - giving all the expletives I've ever known a right old airing. The queues at the tills once inside the shops are the same, only a little more up close and personal. A rugby scrum without the ball.
I find the challenge of trying to think of imaginative gifts that cost a fiver but look like I've spent £30.00 gets more difficult year on year.
I don't like wrapping presents either... I'm afraid it's cutting erratically, wrestling with the sellotape, slapping on a label. Job done. The quality is never very good but definitely degrades as time goes on.
Other things that make my festive cup runneth over include unravelling the tree lights and then trying to 'artistically' wrap them around the tree without losing all the needles in the process.
Writing hundreds of cards, some with
Reading others' computer generated and generic round robins to find they are living the perfect life, with perfect homes, A* grade children and at least three exotic and expensive holidays to write reams about (photos included - just to prove it).
Smiling inanely as I open my fifth present containing notelets.
Playing the obligatory round of charades - I find it difficult to hold my stomach in so it looks flat(ish) from all the angles.
Strangely, removing all the cards, tree and decorations after the event. The house always seems so bare and empty afterwards and it hits me that there's only the rest of January to look forward to. Oh joy.
Why do we do it?
For me, G11's smile is probably why.
|I can't find a recent photo of G11 (I'm always too busy just watching her face) |
so instead here is the smallest member of our family enjoying Christmas.