Monthly Archives: December 2008

Just another stressful Christmas

This week is going to be much better than last week. It is a promise I have made to myself and I am determined to see the funny side of life.
Last week, I experienced disheartenment, frustration and bewildermen. So close to Christmas, too.
First, I had the mother of all colds. Yes, I know you probably had one, too, but this is all about me. My cold was worse than the previous four years’ worth put together. I lay under a duvet for two days and snivelled, ached and flopped, while child number two came out in sympathy and joined me for a weekend of coughing and spluttering.
But, a Christmas tree had to be bought, so I dragged my aching carcass to the local farm to see a handful of pathetic specimens left (“Should have come last week, love,” I was told, by a ruddy-faced farmer, who clearly has not seen any evidence of the credit crunch this year. “I had more than 600 then.”).
I chose the least ridiculous looking one and took it home. And there it stood it the garage, all forlorn for two days before I could muster the energy to find the decorations. I’m afraid it looks fairly rubbish with the adornments.
Low number two came in the guise of a bizarre self-inflicted accident on the way to work. Still weary and delicate from man ‘flu, I reached into my car boot for my handbag. Then, in slow motion (as it always seem to be, but you cannot do a darned thing about it), I banged my head on the lock, which caused me to bring my gloved hand down to rub my head.
Instead, my gloved hand overreached my noggin and – for reasons that I cannot fathom – I ended up punching myself very hard on the bridge of my nose. There were chunters, a few tears of anger and sheer embarrassment and a throbbing sensation that was to last the day. A black eye for Christmas, madam? Oh, just what I always wanted.
Then I spent a fruitless day searching for a Christmas present that mother-in-law claimed wasn’t in her bag of goodies that I’d bought for the children.
With an ill son resting in the lounge, I spent a total of FIVE hours looking for the missing DS game. Wardrobes were turned inside out, drawers were emptied repeatedly and beds were moved. Just in case.
Now in full panic mode, I try to re-buy the game online (now not available until January) and almost weep (again) in frustration.
I confess to m-i-l that the game is missing in action. It cannot be found. There is nothing we can do.
“What DS game?” she asks, puzzled.
“The one that you said was missing from the bag of presents,” I wail.
“Oh, I’ve got that. It’s the CD that’s missing,” she chirrups. The CD she said she was going to get.
Anger? Frustration? Helplessness? Tears?
Ah, yes. It must be Christmas. Happy Christmas to you all.