It's done and dusted, as they are no doubt saying in countless households nationwide, for another year. I like Christmas, but I'm glad it's over. I do the same thing most years, ie, stuff myself silly. I was pretty good this year, but I did fold and have a slice of cheesecake at dessert. It was the in-laws' turn this year, and Mr Bingells together with Messrs 12 and 9, are still at my mother-in-law's house. I have returned home today because I am rostered to work tomorrow. I did score some good presents. The reason I scored the good presents is because I went out and bought them myself, wrapped them, and wrote 'To Simone' or 'To Mum'. Books. Give a person a book, and you are giving them a whole new world. There are certain things I don't like about Christmas. I know it's like saying, 'Hey, look at the elephant in the room' to admit you're not always fond of the whole shebang, but I'm going to tell the truth and shame the pachyderm.
1. Christmas ham. It shits me. Yes, I know, first world problem and people are starving in Africa. I know ALL this. But employers everywhere think a ham will be a great gift, even for a single person household, and these hams are monstrous in size, akin to the hindquarters of a Clydesdale. My husband bought one the other week because our kids had friends over. It's still taking up considerable space in the fridge. It's going to dry out like a neglected houseplant or forgotten lamb roast before any noticeable inroads are made into the flesh of the thing. I hardly ever eat ham at any other time of the year, and it's mainly due to the glut we suffer at Christmas. Really, there's only so much you can do with ham before you succumb to an attack of the screaming meemies and run up and down in the street, naked, screaming, 'Oh God, make it STOOOOPP!' I am actually considering becoming piscetarian, or fish-and-chipocrite, and giving up most meat altogether, with the exception of sea food.
2. Mariah Carey. Yes, she's talented. I know all this, too. But I feel so sorry for shop assistants at this time of year. Not only are they rushed off their feet with the Christmas stampede, they are subjected to 'All I Want For Christmas Is You' played continuously on a loop. I would be beyond postal at this.
3. Christmas movies - this can be good or bad. Interesting, I saw one on the ABC last night called 'Nativity!', a British one which my husband, my mother-in-law, and myself found absolutely delightful. It starred Martin Freeman as a failed actor turned primary school teacher, who is charged with devising the school's nativity play. Okay, I'll admit to finding Freeman cute in a geeky way. Interestingly, he is also in another, but better known, Christmas movie, and that movie is the schmaltz-fest known as "Love, Actually". He plays the stand-in on the adult movie set. Know something? I didn't mind that movie when I first watched it. I decided to buy a copy, and have grown to find it really, really annoying. I liked that it had bittersweetness to it (the Emma Thompson character). But most of the other characters now just shit me to tears. That foul-mouthed secretary the British PM falls for just makes me want to take her aside and rub a cheese grater down her face. Seriously, bitch, stop swearing all the time! Whilst the Laura Linney character didn't annoy me (indeed I found her compassion for her mentally disabled brother inspiring), I did yell at the screen when she was finally with that bloke she'd fancied for ages and the brother rang the mobile, 'Cut the call short! Turn off the phone! Chuck the phone down the dunny! Do anything, but for God's sake put the phone out of the way and just do that hot guy, will you!' I got dizzy from rolling my eyes when that twerpy guy got off the plane in the US and nailed three hot chicks he met in the bar shortly thereafter. I mean, COME. ON!
Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. So I am home, feeling like a punctured whoopee cushion, and after a nice cool break in the weather yesterday, am wrapped in a film of moisture from the current humidity. Our adopted fox-terrier is barking like a lunatic at shadows, and driving me spare. What is almost as bad, he has eaten something that does not agree with him, and his resulting flatulence is like opening the door to the old outdoor dunny in Satan's backyard.
Merry Christmas, to all who take the time to read.
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