A White Christmas

A White Christmas...

Let's all be merry and rejoice in our bizarre need to erect a fir tree inside our middle-class lounge-rooms, squeezed between the 7-foot plasma and the beige Jason Lazy-Boy dad got for Christmas last year. Get out the shiny plastic balls and flashing multi-coloured lights you would, at any other time of year, think were crass enough only for a chinese take-away shop or the window of the 'Sexy Nails' salon down the street. Sing songs about winter wonderlands and spray white powdery stuff out of cans on your window whilst sitting inside with the air-conditioning on sweltering over baking you do once a year that your kids don't even like anyway.

Have 28 people (most of whom you don't even like) over on one day, squished into your tiny lounge-room between the plasma, the recliner and now the tree, eating a roast large enough to feed the majority of Mozambique with leftovers for ham sandwiches from now until well into the following decade. It's 38 degrees, but don't take off the red fleecy hat with the pom pom on it, and make sure your dad or uncle (who is already sufficiently portly) stuffs a pillow up a big red suit, dons a manky white beard, and hands out presents with his non-beer-holding hand. Make sure all your normally conservative relatives have enough VB, Passion Pop or Lemon Ruskies to by this time be adequately sloshed so that they are overly enthusiastic about their love of the Jamie Oliver cook book you bought them that they will obviously never use. 

Watch them unwrap you lost mortgage payments, eat your month's pay cheque and drink what was left for the trip to bali...never mind, tomorrow you can all get in a caravan and go some place just as mediocre as your middle-class christmassy joy and basque in the merriment of your warped concept of what christmas is all about.

Merry Christmas!

Don't forget your raincoat with reindeers on it (who came up with that reindeer crap anyway?) xx