So this week after the debauchery and revelry of last weekend's pub visit I am now writing to you from a suspiciously quite flat containing myself and my two cousins whom are in bed and seem to be drifting off nicely. And after a shattering day of running round after children and catering to their needs as well as catching up on chores I am ready for bed too. Alas however I have yet to tell tales of wonder and merriment as Christmas arrived.
Sitting round the table, adorned with scraps of wrapping paper, glitter and glasses of water nobody really wanted I began to feel a little more in the Christmas spirit of things. After getting fed up of wrapping the night before and feeling like I may have a flu on the way I had been struggling to make sure everything went swimmingly. But this was not my Christmas Day dinner. Oh No, this was the pre-Christmas catch up that Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Stuu and I do every year and this year we were joined by Miss Tweedle-Dee's little brother who in retrospect is not so little now after turning just twenty-one, I think?! The pub was not selected as a venue this year, and thankfully no ex's crashed the party either. Instead we descended on a little American-esk diner just outside of Dunstable and ate until we were ready to puke. A short meet-up, with no drinking or shots (a disappointment to most I feel) however I knew that I would see them all soon, my Tweedles especially. After bidding a farewell to them all I left for the station, presents such as my beloved selfie stick, inflatable crown and yes, a Starbucks Giftcard in toe; And, whilst that evening I, exhausted, fell asleep knowing that in only a few hours I would have to do it all again!
Christmas Eve was a manic one at work. It was the first Christmas Eve I had ever worked and to my surprise was pleasant and jovial. The phone barely rang and every sentence was followed almost by a chocolate. So. Much. Chocolate. Nevertheless we all sat on tender-hooks, waiting for the call to say we could leave for the day. And after the last Samosa had been polished off (my manager brought them in for us, deliciously hot and potato-ey) we got the call we had all been waiting for. Tightly bundling into the small run-about myself and five work colleagues headed into town for some celebratory drinks before heading home to our families, with no need to see each other until the New Year. However whilst a couple of drinks were the intention, I had consumed more than a couple of bottles before I left the pub. A good five hours of drinking Rose wine had not stead me in a good way, especially since I was now running somewhat late for my dinner with Dad and that now it was also dark outside. Pissed as a fart I stumbled up to my Papa's car, carrying yet more wine and some Beef Jerky for snacking on. Ordering Chinese and settling down in front of the fire after was a luxury and as I slowly sobered up I decided that I should get an early night for Santa would be coming down the chimney shortly and delivering me not only a few nice presents but also a nervous boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse, to my Father's door to spend Christmas day with us. Haha, indeed - Let the festivities begin.
After spending nearly six more Christmas' fixing my eyelashes into place and feeling like I could create a twister with a blink I crept downstairs carefully, wary that, even though I am twenty-three, Mr. Claus may be hiding somewhere and just ambush me, jumping out at any given moment, making me both cry and loath the yule-tidings. A ignominious Eggs Benedict awaited and after that a nice Irish coffee to stimulate the senses. Soon it was present time and after unwrapping all of mine, a pile which seems to get smaller the older I get, whilst others get larger I could help but wonder as to my last present. A crudely cut out snowflake on some orange card revealing inside that I was getting a new freezer from Santa (and in part my father). Grateful though I was I later learnt that I could have possibly had one second hand, thus sparing some pennies for more presents, but I was beyond caring at this point; I can now have ice cream! Welcome to my humble home Ben, and Jerry.
As the hours twinkled by in a mass of cooking, idle chit-chat and yet more wine pouring I greeted my grandparents as they arrived, baring gifts also as well as my Grandmother and Grandfather's married-life humour. Watching my elders waddle in and take seats, grumbling politely to one another I knew that one day I would have that. And if after fifty-years together with someone you can't have a laugh together then you might as well give up! I admire my Nana and Granddad, they are the epitome of what I expect and indeed want from a marriage, and at Christmas it is never far from my mind exactly how I would want my own Festive Holidays being spent.
Just as I finished unwrapping my reems and reems of underwear and socks from the oldies (which in all fairness I needed) there was a buzz. It was Mr. Warehouse. And after going to the wrong door he was now en route to my side, thus saving me from poor jokes and a afternoon of lassitude. Rushing upstairs to perfect my Mrs. Claus outfit and smoothing over my curls I took another swig of pink juice before answering the door to a very, very tense Mr. Warehouse. Waving off his brother who had kindly given him a lift we skipped indoors to the warmth. Barely through the door Mr. Warehouse was knocked for six with hugs and kisses as well as a sturdy handshake from my Dad and Granddad. I could tell the nerves were beginning to subside and slowly within a few moments he was himself again. Whispering in my ear as we were seated for dinner, Mr. Warehouse mentioned the fact that the outfit was not only a turn on but also a massive tease and that I was to wait until I was back home at his that night so he could unwrap me himself. Exciting as that was, I was starting to get drunk again and as my Papi and Mr. Warehouse told me to curb my drinking I could not stop. I loved it, the floppy feel of everything and the looseness of my joints. I couldn't help but laugh and giggle my way through the rest of the day, even through an slightly awkward appearance from my uncle and cousin from my mothers side popping in to say 'Hello' and give me a little something towards my Vegas/New Years Eve fund!
As we arrived back to home to Mr. Warehouse's home he shared with his mother I was barely through the door myself when I was greeted by a huge encapsulating cuddle that took me quite by surprise. After not having very much, if any at all, contact from my mother I was not used to such embraces from other females. I was glad of it regardless and enjoyed the short burst of affection. I was promptly thrust a gift I had somewhat forgotten about from Momma Warehouse. Opening it she explained how she had noticed I left some pyjamas here some weeks ago and that she saw some fluffy ones I may like. Bright pink and with white rabbits on I soon come to the conclusion Mr. Warehouse's Mom had bought me a onesie for Christmas. Thrilled I promised to wear it to bed tonight and put it to one side as Mr. Warehouse brought out a bag. As I ushered for my Mr. Warehouse to open his he declined and forwardly asked to watch me open mine. After weeks of speculation, guessing, probing and even a little bit of sneaking we were finally about to discover the secrets that we both held.
My presents included a mammoth Vanilla Cupcake Yankee Candle and a gargantuan, sea-blue dressing gown which now makes me look like the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. But then the big guns came out and after packing everything away and looking for the next bottle of wine to open I was handed a familiar white bag, sealed with a pink ribbon. Opening my Pandora bag I fondled not one but two velvety silk bags, rich and deep purple in colour. Opening them both I allowed the contents to spill into my palms. Two silver charms tumbled out into my hands and as I gasped I was made aware that there should have been a third and that when Mr. Warehouse got paid again he would buy me the third part of my present, completing the set. Adorable and filled with hot emotion I hugged it out and purred about how wonderful the gifts were. Snuggled on the couch and with the night closing in, our eyes beginning to fall shut, Mr. Warehouse and I succumbed to the bedsheets, but not before making sure another sack was emptied.
Boxing Day was busy, with most of the day spent in the kitchen, tending to oven finger food and preparing canapés, not to mention baking cupcakes and Brownies. Mr. Warehouse's brothers and their families took over as did their children as well as Momma Warehouse's new Beau, nicknamed by the children as the 'Jolly Green Giant' after stretching over six-foot tall and with a gut looking as though he was eight-and-a-half months pregnant you could tell how apt it was. Soon though it was time for bed and no sooner had my head hit the pillow, myself and Mr. Warehouse were snoozing away - Until Mr. Warehouse that is snores and I have to jab him with something sharp. You see unlike when Miss Tweedle-Dumb, or even on the odd occasion Miss Tweedle-Dee snores, whereby I mutter something and they silence; With Mr. Warehouse I could place his slumbering sole onto the Syrian front-line and he still wouldn't halt his snores. So much so I am kind of looking forward to a night without the interruptions. But then again, I do have to think about not waking up next to him. And then there is the early morning with my cousins?! Oh No! Here's hoping they will stay in bed a little longer tomorrow and let Cuzz lye-in?! Wishful thinking eh ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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