Happy recycled post day!

​It’s Christmas where I am (My in-laws house) so as you can imagine I’ve been hitting it pretty durn hard all morning and leaving it to the parents to dote on their lone grandchild. A dead horse that I will be flogging till said horse is a nondescript puddle of brown in a trodden and dead patch of grass centred in an otherwise lush green field of life. 

This means I’m halfway into a good mood to write but also too busy being… social (audible cringing sound) so I’m going to do two things for you.

One, I’m going to ask you to please please PLEASE boycott all boxing day sales tomorrow. Retail workers have it hard enough leading up to Christmas with all the abuse spat at them by disorganised fucktards who cant get their presents sorted the other 51 weeks of the year. It’s not their fault. Asking them to choose between being the boring teetotaller at the Christmas get together or getting jolly and sloshes but having to start boxing day with 2 shots of jacks, 4 espressos and a handful of medyfinol is just plain fucking cruel especially seeing as the working day starts at 7am for NO good reason.

Get a life so they can have one too.

Two, I’m going to recycle what I thought was a pretty funny bit of prose from my long forgotten bookface rant page of shame that I put up last year.

Cherry Mistmas.

I do not relish Christmas.

It is a painful time for me and has been for many years for a reason that I keep very private as it’s not any of your effing business but, I realise as I age, there may be other people out there that have to suffer through the holidays as I do.
I realise that these people may feel alone in their pain as I did.

So, in the spirit of season – and partially as a court ordered community service – I’m here to make you feel not so alone with my confession.

My wife has OCD.
Ok so that may not seem like a very big thing but go ahead and think about all the shit that gets placed around the house at Christmas on average let along the fucking tree.
Here’s a snippet of my morning:

We’ve recently acquired a new couch. It fills the living room to capacity and covers the only available power point. This means that the tree will have to go elsewhere especially if we want to put lights on it.
Where else but the dining area (open plan living, whatareyougunnado) which is currently jam packed with a dining setting and a buffet.
The only power point in THAT area is next to the buffet. Which means we need to take that big old thing and move it to the other side.
Once moved to the other side it makes everything feel ‘Cramped’.
Which means we now need to lift the twenty ton mother fucker onto a pallet jack and move it into the sitting area.

No problem right?

Except the only available space to place the buffet so you don’t shatter your entire foot on it walking in is under a picture which sits entirely off centre to said buffet. After a brief panic attack we decided we could always move the picture later. I’ll have to purchase a hammer drill but that the cost of happiness.
I had almost managed to wrench her away when the discovery was made that the protruding edges of the cube stack book case and the wine glass cabinet weren’t of the same height as the buffet.
An executive decision has been made to corner off that section of the house and set it on fire till it forms a uniform pile of ash.

Back to the dining room and the dining setting now has to be moved under the counter. But not TOO close to the counter. Also two of the chairs are now in storage.
An entirely bare wall has been stripped clean and ready for the placement of a (no shit) 3ft Christmas tree called stumpy. Yes, were the Christmas tree naming type of people. Deal with it society.

The time had come to construct stumpy. I stood and watched as only ¾’s of the branches went on because the rest pointed towards the wall and that seemed ‘kind of like a waste of tree don’t you think?’
It was at that time I decided to go take a shit and shower. (Not at the same time. Ref court ordered community service as to how I learnt that it’s wrong to do both at the same time.)
By the time of my return stumpy was now at full faux foliage due to a last minute change of mind.
Baubles and decorations were sectioned off and colour / design coded and the tinsel sat next to a measuring tape.

I immediately gave my wife a hug as I assume a mental breakdown was close / current / recently passing. Apparently I was wrong. I plan on it arriving around about midday.
I left her to her own devices while decorating the tree, not at all stunned to find a very even spread of ornaments despite the fact that not twenty minutes prior the entire back of the tree was not actually going to exist.

As a final decision, the lights have not been put on as it would make the whole thing cluttered.

Good thing everything was moved to accommodate the only free power point in the entire fucking house.

Thus ends the story of just the tree.

If this made you feel better and not alone please let me know and I’ll be happy to write up a 30 page essay on the remainder of the house decorating / moving / burning down.

Happy fucking holidays.

Jacob

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