It’s Christmas time. There’s no need to be afraid. At Christmas time – the workers of the world get all giddy.
It’s a festive Salted Caramel coffee on the way in to the office. And look at Doreen! She’s rocking her Christmas tree light up dangly earrings!
And Stan’s got his Christmas bauble jumper on – the maverick. The canteen are doing mulled wine (one glass mind) and mince pie lattices. Look at all those pigs in blankets. They’ve put tinsel around the fire exits!
The halls have been buzzing since November with the count down to the Christmas break. The office is filled with the thrill of secret santa and you’re off to get inappropriately pissed at the Christmas lunch (four courses / steak house).
And then they’re off their heads practically elated typing their “out of office” email “back next year” fuckers.
Then there’s a Christmas party with them all linking arms wailing out “Fairy tale of New York”. Christmas hats on. The boss snogging Pauline in the third loo from the left. His wife won’t be happy.
And here we are – the stay at home parent.
“Are you ready for Christmas?” they ask us.
Christmas? It’s Christmas? What is the actual date today?
“Have you done your shopping?” No.
“Are you excited about your time off?” What time off?
There ain’t no point in wearing my Rudolph antlers and snowball earrings – no one is impressed here.
There’s no festive canteen treats – I am the canteen. And you’ll get what we’ve got in – beans and egg from now till Tuesday.
There’s no excited countdown to a “holiday” or break and when the other half puts on his “out of office” you think oh God – they’re home for how long? There’s going to be fights – and one more fucking person to hoover around.
There ain’t no secret Santa. You’re on your tod. And the only surprise parcel you’re gonna get is poop.
There’s no lunch, no party – none of that feeling – that ecstatic feeling of “It’s Chriiiissstttmassssss“.
Other half arrives home, rosy cheeked, party hat lop sided on their head, they’re wearing Doreen’s Christmas tree earrings … on their arse – “I’m home for Christmas love! You ok?”
“Muh” you snarl. “The eldest is constipated and the youngest has shit all up the door bouncer. Merry Christmas.”
Stay at home parents. Really – Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?