Hello. Now, I think you know me pretty well at this point in our relationship. I’m not one to constantly remind you of things you’d rather forget… such as bikini wax appointments, or the First World War, but this post is for the greater good of us all:
It’s almost Christmas again.
That bastard seems to be coming faster than an 18-year-old losing his virginity these days, it’s no sooner finished than the Toys ‘R’ Us adverts with that fucking singing giraffe start again. There’s a magical place, you’re on your way there – to be bankrupted with overpriced Lego and the iPod accoutrements your little darlings insist they need. Joy to the world!
Well, I have advice to impart. It’s not very good, and some of it could possibly lead to arrest so it’s your own judgement call if you choose to use any of it.
In fact, I can accept no responsibility in case bad things happen as a result of you paying attention to this article that I am completely responsible for writing.
Our lawyers said that covers me. YES, we have lawyers. Don’t we?
Who you want:
Hot guy/gal in the workplace that you have a crush on, so you can buy a semi-suggestive gift that alludes to your interest in them. Perhaps two tickets for a film you can cheekily invite yourself along to? That would be charming, surely they couldn’t resist!
Who you get:
The work experience kid.
What to do:
Right, this is a tricky one. Anything even remotely suggestive or erotically humorous and HEY PRESTO! You’re on the sex offenders register! Merry Christmas to you and your destroyed family!
Anything too whimsical – you become ‘quirky office hippy’, everyone will assume you’re angry about nuclear weaponry and have an angry vegan boyfriend/girlfriend with angry dreadlocks.
Anything hip – you’re trying too hard GRANDMA.
Anything to do with the wrong type of band – the withering look and fixed plastic smile will crush you mentally, don’t run this risk.
Vouchers. Boring, but SAFE. If vouchers were robots, they would be Asimov’s 3 Laws Safe, that’s how safe they are. You cannot go wrong. Brothels don’t do vouchers do they?
Don’t buy brothel vouchers.
Embarrassing stories at the dinner table
I’ve suffered here, more than my fair share, I know how it is.
“Remember when we were on holiday in France, and our Chrissy skidded through that enormous puddle of French dog’s diarrhoea? If there was dog crap to be stepped in, by god she’d find it!”
“More sprouts, embarrassing relative? Don’t choke to death on them now, will you?”
“Not a chance! At least not before I’ve told the story of you shouting the F word loudly in a theatre when you dropped your toffees during the national anthem!”
“That was you Auntie.”
“Oh shit, yeah.”
I’m afraid there is no way to escape this. It’s as traditional as the poor old tanned bird lying legs akimbo in the centre of your table.
*Humorous Katie Price picture goes here*
The only thing you can do is be ready with comebacks.
If there are no embarrassing tales to be told about your main torturers, FIND SOME.
Go through their cupboards, ask close friends, hire a private detective, do anything to make sure you’re ahead of the game. This is Christmas, it’s the most dangerous day of the year.
More people die as a result of stabbings following embarrassing stories at the dinner table than Guy Fawkes night, Halloween, and ‘Take A Grenade To Work’ day put together.
There is a story about a famous man who stabbed his wife at the Christmas dinner table, (I probably don’t need to tell you it was Hippocrates), after she began mocking the Hippocratic oath he was trying to write. She survived fortunately, saved by the very man who not 15 minutes before had plunged a knife into her nagging face.
And thus, on that glorious day the NHS was created, and we have celebrated its birth every December 25th since, or something.
But I digress, arm yourself with some dirt of your own…it’s the only way to win the game.
“Remember when Chrissy forgot her words while playing the Angel Gabriel in the school nativity, and started talking about Star Wars instead?”
“Ha! Yes, that was amusing! Do you also remember when you and your wife tried to adopt that Romanian orphan, but were deemed too old, with not enough expendable income? It was hilarious!”
You enjoy that awkward throat clearing and the sound of the clock in your now silent dining room. You’ve EARNED it.
Go to the door with a convincing looking toy gun, and say the following:
Fuck right off. GO ON!! Oh don’t start crying you
greedy little shit, it’s begging! Plain and simple, you’re begging! Well you
picked the wrong house this time, my friend here and I have HAD ENOUGH!
*pretend to ‘cock your piece’ – that’s gangster/bent cop speak for ‘make gun fire-able’*
I’ll make sure you never interrupt me during Antiques Roadshow EVER AGAIN!!
*aim at them, at this point they should be screaming and scattering from your garden*
There. Then simply go inside, make yourself a hot, sweet drink, and wait for the police to arrive. They won’t be long.
Other things you should be doing now
1. Practicing your fake ‘I love it!’ face for the Milli Vanilli mirror you might get. Why mum? Why? What frigging possessed you?
2. Planning excuses for the parties you don’t want to go to, some reasonable ones include:
“The cactus I’ve had for 11 years died.” “My doctor thinks I have scurvy/rabies/Stockholm syndrome.” “I developed Tourette’s overnight and I’d just YUM YUM DEEP FRIED JIZZ ALL OVER YOUR TITS embarrass you.” “I had sex with your dad’s wife’s husband.”
3. Filling your Christmas Piñata with pornographic sweets, and inspirational biblical quotes for the little ones.
(People under four feet tall.)
4. Planning your fake death announcement for the local newspaper as your Christmas joke for the family. They’ll love it! It only took my family 17 years to forgive me!
So there we are. I hope I’ve been at least some help to you in the run up to the most wonderful time of the year.
If you require any further advice, don’t hesitate to write in. They’ll tell me, I’ll say ‘yeah, I’ll get right on that’ and then before you know it, we’re in March and you’re still waiting.
I think what I’m saying here is that I’m pretty unreliable. Yes, it’s annoying, but it’s also sexy isn’t it? My mum said it is.
Whatever your religion, be you Christian, Catholic, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Jedi, don’t know, undecided, or a completely unreligious ‘normal’ like me, I wish you every happiness over the rapidly approaching season to be jolly.
May we all meet again under happier circumstances and should old acquaintance be forgot or whatever I’m supposed to say. Be merry.
Chrissy is a sarcastic aromatherapist. Yes, that's a thing.
She loves music, film, Liverpool FC, and longs for the day when robots live amongst us. She has been to Belgium four times but won't say why.