Sunday, December 27, 2009

Ah, Christmas. The season of feeling guilty because you don't feel more grateful.

Christmas is always a....fickle time for my family. We can be having a perfectly lovely time one minute, then massive arguments about nothing, then fine again. When you add gift-giving into the mix, well, it makes for an interesting time.

Take my mother, for example. She always tells us not to get her anything, "Don't waste your money, I don't need anything, it's just nice to have you home.", so one year we actually took her at her word. We didn't get her anything. She threw a massive fit and stormed upstairs, taking her 'one present she bought herself' with her - a hairdryer. She didn't really appreciate being reminded that she didn't want anything. Apparently nothing doesn't actually mean nothing.

This year nothing that bad happened, just a lot of snarky trivial pursuit games and sneaky queries about the origins of gifts, except for the questioning. The constant questioning. "So, have you got a boyfriend?" "Are there any nice guys?", and my favourite, "Why do you think you don't have a boyfriend? Do guys not like you? Do you think you give out the wrong vibes?"

Nothing signals the point at which it's best to get out, get out now before you kill your family quite like your father giving you advice on how to attract men.

What did you get for Christmas? I got perfume, books, and a deep-set Daddy complex.

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