A less-hot, slightly anaemic-looking but still pretty damn cute ringer for Jesse McCartney with identical hair at the candy store in ludicrous felt antlers with red and green flashing lights. Appears to be working very silly hours (i.e. twenty-four seven) for what is turning out to be a very silly season indeed. Poor guy – I do hope he’s being paid handsomely in overtime… Lanky blonde stoner dude with a lingering gaze over the fetta section at the supermarket delicatessen. At that very same supermarket, a delightful yet ever so slightly disturbing juxtaposition of fourteen-year-old baby face and four-thirty shadow topped off with curly brown surfer locks presiding over checkout lane Number 1. (For the last time, I am NOT a paedophile.) God bless them.

’Tis the season… when slaughtering sacred holiday refrains through lack of practice and skill earns you both pity and cash. I am, of course, referring to buskers who, though by no fault of their own, kind of suck and should really go home and lock themselves in their room until they have actually learned how to play their clarinet/violin/trumpet/euphonium/whatever to just the slightest degree of proficiency. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE. Not that there aren’t any talented buskers out there – I add as I spy a pitchfork-wielding mob of the aforementioned amateur performers heading very quickly my way – as the ever-so-kind PJ commented of one particular singer: “Such a pretty voice. Pity about the ugly face attached to it.”

’Tis the season… when grown women can dress up as nymphs and dole out candy canes and Santa chocolates to greedy children and their parents don’t bat an eye. Whatever happened to don’t take candy from strangers?? ’Tis indeed a unsettling sight… It’s also the one time of year where men donning furry red suits and gigantic fake beards have most likely been paid to do so, instead of being hauled off to the mental asylum in a big white van. Ah, to be a child again, in blissful oblivion and never questioning why Santa can appear in five shopping centres at the same time!

’Tis the season… that I single-handedly roasted to utter crispy-skinned perfection an antibiotic-fed battery line Smeggles Size 16 holiday chicken. (Thank you, thank you.) (It would have been a turkey but then we’d still be having leftovers in August.) Not to mention simultaneously whipping up three side vegetables, cranberry sauce, Duchesse potatoes, a casual summer button mushroom salad, Peach Froth – “a non-alcoholic taste sensation of blended milk, egg whites and genuine peach juice (you better believe it, I had to simmer those suckers for 45 minutes) for the whole family to enjoy!” – and peach cobbler with ice-cream (store-bought, alas) for dessert. And re-arranged the living room furniture to make room for the tree, and draped it with tasteful ornaments on strategically spaced faux pine branches. (Mother Dearest refused to allow me to go the whole hog and pile it with junk. And I was so looking forward to hanging up my Grade One Christmas art installation too…) AND I baked and iced gingerbread men the night before (albeit scary looking ones all with wonky green frowns because I accidentally made too much green icing, but moving on). I am Martha Stewart incarnate – Über Domestic Goddess.

’Tis the season… of staying up till two and sleeping in till twelve. Of 45-cent postage stamps for “card-only” envelopes (ahem, ahem) just like in the good old days. Of last-minute present buying frenzies and Lindt chocolate umbrellas at three for a dollar. Of opening the mailbox for a stack of cards from Canadian relatives you didn’t even know existed. Of tearing open carefully wrapped packages to discover that T-shirt you’ve never known you’ve always wanted, that stationery you’ve been craving, more chocolate to stuff your face with, or another much-welcomed lipgloss to add to your ever-expanding collection. Of sharing fondue with people you love and wondering why their strawberries are in season all year round. Of watching Carols by Candlelight for the tenth year in a row and singing along, word perfect, to the Christmas songs you’ve been humming since September. Of knowing that you’ve been caught up in all that sickly Hallmark sentimentality but loving it all anyway. Of dreading December 25th because once it comes, you know there’ll be another 364 days until it comes around again. And of realising that the only reason you’re dreading Christmas is because you love it so much. (Props to PJ for letting me steal her words.)

Merry Christmas, y'all!

Posted By Little Miss Nobody//9:53 pm

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