... well for another year anyway.
The expression on my face resembled that of young Timmy, pictured, when I went downstairs this morning to discover that the ol' woman had grinchified the house and removed every christmas related item - save for the few pine needles that fucked over my bare soles, adding physical pain to that felt in my heart.
I fuckin' love Christmas so this is therefore always a tricky time for me. I hate it because it's like the last month never happened and there's a whole cunty year to contend with before the next one.
This is why she has to de-christmas the house when I'm unconscious or out. Once as a toddler (well, 11) I threw the almightiest of screamy-strops and tried to gaffer tape the Christmas tree base to the sofa.
I don't see why she couldn't have done this on Sunday when I've returned to Uni. What's a bit of extra bad luck when you're entering the twilight years of your life with saggy everything and are married to my dad?
x
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