Saturday, 17 December 2011

'Tis the season to be threatening...

I have threatened to call Santa on so many occasions during these past few weeks that it no longer holds the same malicious punch it once did.  Once upon a time, simply reaching for the phone would result in instant obedience. Now it seems the kids have given up on even trying to be on their best behaviour.  One friend's son told her "I think I just want presents from mum and dad this year 'cause it's too hard to be good for Santa".

Keeping up with Daisy's Santa wish list is also proving challenging. I have purchased the 'big girl' bike, make-up set and dinosaur egg as previously requested.  However, when we saw Santa at the shops this morning and he asked her what she wanted, the reply was 'an angel costume'.  It was the first I'd heard of that one. 'Darling, Santa may not have any angel costumes left in stock at this late stage.' I said with a panicked grimace towards the man in red. 'Oh, um, yes' replied Santa, 'sometimes you get what you ask for and sometimes I like to leave you a surprise.'  Nice save Santa.

Oh and by the way, I am currently residing with Mr Scrooge himself.  Following the mid-week delivery of our real live Christmas tree, a conversation between me and my beloved went something along the lines of as follows:

Mr D:  I thought we already had a Christmas tree (points to artfully arranged selection of decorated twigs). 
Me: No, that is not a Christmas tree, that's an artfully arranged selection of decorated twigs.
Mr D:  How much was it?
Me: (after calculation of the automatic husband-doesn't-need-to-know 30% deduction, exclusion of cost of tree stand, delivery charge and the trip to Bed Bath and Table for some new decorations) Oh, about 50 bucks.
Mr D: WHAT?!?

Anyway, Mr D may well be pleased to know that since the tree went up I have been battling a violent internal tug of war regarding my disdain of artificial Christmas trees, versus the irritation of having sticky little pine needles carpeting the house which are an absolute bugger to suck up the vacuum.

Next year we might just have an artfully arranged selection of decorated twigs instead.

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