I've not asked for much this Christmas, because as you get older, the present pile gets smaller but all the more expensive. Because I don't get 'excited' about Christmas anymore. I think, on the scale of 1 - Dudley Dursley, I peak at about a 5/6 on the whole present thing nowadays. I look forward to seeing family and eating a shit-tonne of goose fat-smothered food. I look forward to giving the gifts, not receiving them. I enjoy watching my 10-year-old cousin go through his 'I don't know what to believe but if I say I don't believe in Santa, I might not get presents' phase and hear him scream 'Thanks mum and dad... and Santa!' when he opens up his 13th set of Star Wars Lego. I kind-of like receiving an unusable present from my Gran and smiling gratefully, because it wouldn't be Christmas without a pair of hessian sandals to wear in the Northern snow.
I also don't have a job to go to over Christmas (oh yeah, I quit)' so I don't have that to worry about. The fear that crept into my heart whenever I thought about serving plates upon plates on watery poultry on Christmas morning, when I should be spending time with my family, was enough to make me cry. I vow to never work in a pub environment again. Although the Sunday drunkards were always fun to observe, it wasn't worth it. 'Twas all in all a faf, really. But, because I'm such a good person, I've been spending what little money I've managed to retain on the few humans who've claimed me as a 'loved one'. It's times of the year like this that I wish I was a sociopath so I didn't have to worry about buying gifts for other people. I hate people.
So while I am broke, I am happy, however slowly I may be drowning in used Kleenex's. However high I am on ASDA's own cold and flu capsules and however shit the back of my mouth tastes. Now I think about it... No. I'm happy. I think.
So Happy Christmas/ Hanuka/ Ede/ Quanza/ whatever Pheobe Buffay celebrates this time of year.
