Jeez, it feels like I have only just packed away the summer tops and now the shops are playing Slade. The horrors of Christmas shopping awaits, the goose (me) is getting fat and my bank balance is getting so far into the red it's just not funny anymore.
My brother didn't incite the Christmas spirit in me either. I got an email saying
What shall we get dad for Christmas?
No hello, how are you? How are the girls? Not even a hint of pleasantries. Not that I'm bothered. I only saw him on Saturday, so he pretty much knows the answers to those questions anyway. The fact is, he is nearly 40 with a wife and child and I am heading too close to 40, with a (moody) husband, two children, oh, and let's not forget the dog. So, how come we are still sharing Christmas presents for our parents like we are 9 years old?
Ridiculous.
Other news. My husband is still an arse.
He has more work Christmas do's than, erm, gosh, I can't really think, but you know, someone who has lots of Christmas do's...Coleen Rooney perhaps (how come she has been out 3 times since having a baby two weeks ago and that's how many times I have been out since having my first baby 5 years ago? Bitter? Yes, that's me.) Meanwhile I have no Christmas booze ups. That's right, not one.
So, all of you who are off out for Christmas drinkages think of bitter old me sat at home sucking a lemon, just to make my face look that little bit more sour.
