Well folks, it's upon us.
Saturday morning ET & I head back to Ireland for a week of Christmas same oldishnessivity.
So Saturday is the start of SEVEN, (count them,) SEVEN days and nights with my out-laws... thats more days & nights than the number of toes I have (Damn you frostbite fetish club!).
From my out-laws, as Christmas gifts, I will receive a CD, and a DVD, they will both be Irish, and they will both be the top sellers this Christmas, and they will both be crap.
Also, I will receive the timeless gift of, 'irritation'. If I'm REALLY lucky, I'll get the box set which includes 'annoyance' and 'impatience'.
I will have to pet a dog to which I am allergic and have conversations to which I'm more allergicererer.
These will include me justifying why I don't have children, why I don't move back to Ireland, why I'm not richer, why I'm not taller, why I don't want a fourth kilogram of roast ham thank you very much, and why I haven't put a stop to global warming yet.
I will drink wine at the Christmas dinner table that has a higher ph level than the combined IQs of it's drinkers, and I will wear a paper crown, pulled from a paper cracker, just before I slam my paper face into the mashed potatoes in the hope of being the first ever victim of spudfixiation.
While all this fun is going on I shall be watching my wife for signs of pregnancy, after all, it IS the time of year for immaculate conceptions. (the 26th, send good vibes, or at least some cash money)
Casting aside the very fact that I probably will end up jailed before the end of my Christmas holiday, I want you to forget my misery and impending doom, and I want to wish you all a happy holiday.
Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want you all to have a Coca-Cola Christmas, with matching red and green outfits and rosey faced children, I want some rows, the occasional quarrel, and maybe even the odd drunken slump in your doorway.
But I DO wish you a Christmas, where you take a moment to look at what you have in front of you, be that one, two, or fourteen children, or even just the beginnings of a bump, give the wife, the hubby, the sperm doner, the turkey baster holder, or even just the randy milkman a squeeze and a peck on the cheek and be happy with your lot.
So you miserable bunch of peasants, just for one f&$#ing day, is that too much to ask?
Until next weekend,
Happy Christmas or just a Happy Holiday,
From Xbox4NappyRash & his split personalities.