Over the last five years, Christmas has become my least favourite time of the year and the most stressful day for me. Anyone whose parents are divorced and positively despise each other will know what I am talking about. 2 X everything does not make for a jolly day.
This year, my mom and I agreed to join my BF’s family for lunch; however my dad was here for Christmas for once (he works overseas) and so he expected me to be there too. So I spent three hours in the morning with my dad and his side of the family and three hours with my BF’s family and my mom.
Christmas is for kids if you ask me. We had epic Christmas jols back in the day, as a mixed breed of Italians, Scott’s and coloureds; we are or were a HUGE family. I had about 17 cousins to play with at any given time. Presents were plentiful and supervision was nil. All adults were slewed.
Plenty of time on the day for sneaking ciggies, diving into the pool on lilo’s, playing with all your toys at once and inevitably sinking your battery operated toy car in the pool.
Now you are expected to be appropriately dressed and engage in polite conversations. Everyone wants to know what you’re ‘doing with your life/youth/college or lack thereof experience, they ask why you aren’t successful/engaged/with child/thin/and rich!
Next year I am booking myself into quiet cottage somewhere far away from this madness, where it is acceptable to stay in your pyjamas till midday, chain smoke and drink liqueurs out of chocolate candies till completely motherless.
Anyone who wants to join me in my cynical bubble is welcome.