Whether you’re a minimalist or a vegan or neither, we could all use a bit…
So this is Christmas. Another year over.
190 school drop offs, 33 nutritious dinners consisting solely of the food group “Cheese” and eight karaoke renditions of “Don’t Stop Believing”.
And that was just July.
Christmas is not simply a day but a series of predictable events our nation is proud to be known for.
Is it the day before Christmas if you don’t hide yet another dent in the bumper from your wife after braving the shopping centre car parks at the last minute?
One day children will understand this is the true meaning of Nightmare Before Christmas. Don’t spoil it for them now, they have a few precious years of innocence yet.
Christmas Eve means watching Love Actually for the millionth time and attempting to wrap gifts. Look out Kikki K. Honorable mention goes to the gift in the JB Hi-Fi bag with the price tag still on. #Straya
The rest of the world thinks the soundtrack of Christmas preparations is laughter and childish squeals of delight. Meanwhile, in Australia, it’s the sound of the human stampede at Coles trying to get the last pot of whipping cream and Michael Buble’s 147th Christmas album ‘Santa’s Tax Return’.
As the dawn breaks, Christmas morning is here.
Children wake eager to catch a glimpse of the man in red. And by eager I mean up at 6:00 am unwrapping every present before you’ve even had time to spike your second-morning coffee with Santa’s special drink.
They’re demanding batteries for their new toys which is lucky because you bought six packets. And they said there were no useful lessons to glean from “What To Expect When You’re Expecting”
As lunch approaches, gird your loins people because the troops are arriving. Family arrives in a whirlwind of faces you hope you remember, but most likely won’t.
They’ll ask you all the questions. The mildly passive aggressive, majorly awkward questions where you’d rather sit on the pointy end of the star ornament than answer.
“So still not married yet?”
“So didn’t use that gym membership you got last year we see!”
“So what exactly does a vegan eat?”
“So that Malcolm Turnbull hey?”
Everyone gathers for the Christmas cracker pulling ceremony, the only time it’s socially acceptable to wear a coloured piece of crepe on your head for six hours. Then come the Christmas jokes, recycled for the 14th year and various useless plastic knickknacks that may end up someone’s nose.
Don’t laugh, remember last year?
As with all holidays Christmas will come to an end. It leaves behind a pool of discarded ribbon, Grandpa snoring in the EzyBoy and the hope that if you lie down for a couple of minutes you might be able to fit more Christmas pudding in.
Oh, I wish it could be Christmas every day. Just not any day ending with a y.