No, really it is.
She’s had her day. It’s time to move on. Christmas must die. And that goes for all this Happy New Year bollocks too.
You know how I know?
I came into work this morning (well, that’s enough in itself), took one look at the tin of Quality Street that some festively drunk work colleague had donated to the office and I didn’t fancy one at all. The thought of letting another chocolate morsel slip past my ruby red lips made me want to regurgitate my breakfast all over my keyboard.
And don’t get me started on the mince pies. They’re dotted around the office like land mines. Little scalloped crusts of Christmas codswallop. Poisonous pastries baked in the devil’s own arse.
But the real indicator that Christmas needs to be jerked off the nearest scaffold is the reaction engendered in me whenever anyone wishes me Happy New Year or (worse) asks me how my Christmas holiday had gone.
“Aaargh! Don’t ask me about my Christmas holiday! It was precious! Just between me and my family and I don’t want it sullied by having the experience aired in the scabby work environment where it will get cheapened by the buzz of the fax machine or a work colleague sobbing down the phone line to HR. Mind your own business, my Christmas break was mine, do you hear me? Mine! Not yours! Stop trying to finger it with your grubby little paws of perfunctory politeness and yes you may borrow my stapler.”
I have managed to gouge 2 inch deep claw marks in my ergonomically sound desk since my re-emersion into the work environment yesterday.
It does not bode well.
The sooner we can get on with mindlessly pressing our faces hard into the grey grindstone of normality and forget all this talk of goodwill and hope and the painful memories of freedom the better.
Because there is no point fooling ourselves. Christmas is just a holiday romance. It was never going to be forever. Sure she might wiggle her baubled boobies at you in December. Tell you that her Christmas milk shake is better than everybody else’s. She might gyrate her tinselled tush in your direction at the office party and invite you to pull your festive sleigh up to her bumper (baby) but she’s just a big prick tease.
Apart from a few present on the 25th she’s never going to deliver. She’s got no sense of longevity. She’s got commitment issues, Goddamnit. It ain’t you; it’s her. She needs her freedom. She needs to feel the wind beneath her wings or a hundred and one other clichéd excuses.
And I’ve heard them all before. Every sodding year.
Well, enough is enough. I can’t take it anymore, Christine Mas or whatever your real name is. If I can’t have you, then no-one can have you.
This is the end of the line. I’m sorry. I really am.
But it’s time for you to go down and stay down, bitch.
It’s time to say goodbye.
I’m sorry. There is no other way.
Well, I don’t know about you lot but I feel better already.
But I don't want to take my tree down! (Sob!)
Misssy M: listen lady, if you don't take your tree down... then I will! Click click!
Hey! Happy New Year! Did you have a great festive holiday?
Our tree looked like a fossilised twig by Christmas Day, so was felled on Boxing Day. End of Chistmas...
Nota Bene: finish with Christmas before she finishes with you...? I like your style!
You're being too gentle with Ms Christmas. Give it to her mean and dirty next year and you'll both enjoy it more.
"Sure she might wiggle her baubled boobies at you in December. Tell you that her Christmas milk shake is better than everybody else’s. She might gyrate her tinselled tush in your direction at the office party and invite you to pull your festive sleigh up to her bumper (baby) but she’s just a big prick tease."
I am in fits of laughter!! Thank you for brightening up my dull Wednesday morning!!
Not like you to pass up the chance of a Quality Street...this Christmas bitch must have hurt you really badly! So listen up - she's not worth it, Steve, you can do better than her. I've heard the Easter Bunny Girl has been wiggling her fluffy bottom at you? Interested?
Gorilla Bananas: does this mean I need to buy a strap-on? Or just take Christmas dogging?
Emma: always both a pleasure and an honour.
Trish: oooh! A bunny girl is every guy's dream! Especially if she'll play "hunt for Steve's eggs"... ;-)
Totally agree with you. I'm just fighting my daughter to get the xmas decorations down.We Italian celebrate the Three Kings as well tomorrow. And an old lady called la Befana who brings small gifts to good kids...Gosh, was the fat old man in red not enough? I'm broke already...Love the way you write, Steve. Looking forward to your finished book. Ciao. A.
Lunarossa: I was broke before Christmas let alone after it! I'd be happy to email you the first 70 pages of the novel if you fancy a sneak-peek?
Christmas - god yeah, she is sooo last year.
My postman is improving his English...and loves your blog.
He says it opens a whole new world to him....and it certainly involves a lot of explanations over a beer to translate the life of Leamington Spa to small town Costa Rica.
Indicating the paragraph beginning
'Sure she might wiggle....' he says his ambition is to go to England if that's what an English Christmas is like....
It's going to take a lot of beer to explain away that one...
Very Bored in Catalunya: yeah, Christmas is like the old St Stephen's Day... so passe.
The fly in the web: your postman drink beer and reads blogs on his round? He really should come to England. He'd fit right in. ;-)
No he wouldn't...he actually delivers letters and parcels!
They'd ostracise him!
"Little scalloped crusts of Christmas codswallop. Poisonous pastries baked in the devil’s own arse."
I think if I made mince pies, or any other baked goods for that matter, that's exactly what mine would taste and look like. We could make a few batches for next year and write that on the boxes... Only to be consumed AFTER Christmas has left the building of course.
You old Grinch. Mind you I hate all the decorations.
I feel very let down, she never wiggled her baubled boobies in my direction once. Tsk.
(read in a New York detective accent)
She's just a golddigga' waiting to get paid. It was never a love affair man, just a flash of them fake boobies and KA-CHING, payday!!
Where is she now? ..gone. All thats left is a few stains and a sick feeling in your guts.
Never again you say...
Yeah, till next time buddy!
horses for courses mate. To you mince pies are poisonous pastries baked in the devil’s own arse ....to me they are a nirvana that has NOT passed my lips since I can't get them for love nor money over here. Send me a shipload of crusty old devil's arseholes why dontcha?
When it's done, it's done. Our tree and decorations were down before New Year! It is summer here after all and there's only so long one can put up with the tinsel torture. Perhaps I'll string up some lights for our mid-winter Soltice; when I'll really need cheering up after school drop offs in howling southerlies!
Great post, brilliantly and wittily written.
The fly in the web: true - he'd show our lot up for the befuddled reprobates that they are!
Clippy Mat: did you steal the recipe from Satan himself? Or is there something you're not telling me oh Dark One?
Mark: Grinch? You just made a grumpy man very happy.
Heather: she could tell that you were hetero. That's what it is. Plus I have a magnificent oral sex light and you don't.
Joebloggs: I fear you are right. I was hoping for a True Romance style ending but all I got was a Reservoir Dog.
Emma: you are most welcome to whatever arseholes come my way. In fact, I may have to hire an entire container ship.
Sarah: down before New Year? Wonderful! I like your style ma'am. It'll be Crimbo in the Southern Hemisphere for me next year!
Obviously I'm with you on this...
However, nobody at work has asked me how my Christmas went. After all these years, I think I'm finally getting them trained.
Rol: any jobs going in your office? I make a mean cup of tea. And when I say "mean" I mean mean...
Fabulous post! Our tree is long gone, and I have my 'snozz' firmly against the grindstone again (well, for 3 days then I'm off work til 31 Jan)...
Valentines Day is on the horizon. (Local retailers want you to think ahead)
Amanda: enjoy your holiday - you truly deserve it and I shall not deride you for it at all.
English Rider: don't even get me started on that whore, Cupid...
I'd forget about that ChrisMiss, that tinsel tush just isn't worth it, there is better right around the corner, just look, there she is, all decked out in scarlet, bearing a big bouquet of roses, heading in your direction, Miss Valentine is the one you're wanting now !
But beware, all these Holly Day honeys are just wham bam thank you ma'am deals, and in 11 months from now, you'll see that newer improved younger sweeter softer blushing Miss Chris coming up the street, and your heart is going to start pumping overtime all over again, you'll see, mark my words... and you'll even be salivating at the thought of her bountiful baskets of chocolate booty... and mince pies waiting to be nibbled while she whispers sweet nothings in your ear.
'painful memories of freedom', you bet. Feeling bitter myself and a bit twisted! Hate work , love holidays. Boohoo!
It was never about the mince pies, Steve.
Owen: no, no, sir, I am swearing off these faithless women for a while... they all take your money and run without a backward glance. It's celibacy from now on. Although, dammit, I am rather partial to Easter Bunny girls...
Suburbia: welcome to the club, sister.
Nana Go-Go: it was the crackers, wasn't it?
I'll go home and take down the tree tonight, but I've got to tell you that I wish some of the good parts of the Christmas spirit could be with us all year 'round. (Yes, I'm one of "those.")
"and yes you can borrow my stapler"
Agghghhhh it's stating the obvious, obviously, but you are just hilarious. That is EXACTLY as heartfelt as it is around the offices I've ever worked in. Farcical. All of it!
Femminismo: it's the receiving presents part, right? I'm one of those. (Only joking.)
Being Me: I'm telling you, my teeth are gritted together so hard they could use me as the stapler...
So... what... shall I wish you an unhappy new year and tell you to break a leg, instead then?
Cor, some people are never happy...
Val: break a leg? Are you a secret thespian, my dear?
Post a Comment