Christmas Shopping.

Ah Christmas shopping. The gentle sound of carol singers, Jack Frost nipping at your reddened nose, your arms holding some perfectly packaged shopping bags, camaraderie and laughter at a little wind up monkey that thrashes a pair of cymbals together in Debenhams, the snow is falling and the lights on the high street…. actually no. This isn’t what happens at all. It’s all lies, filthy lies.

To me Christmas shopping is a delightful concept, but the reality is sinister.

Particularly mid to late December, it’s akin to cramming yourself inside a coffin made for one person with ten highly annoying people accompanying you and that’s PER shop you enter.

My biggest annoyance by far, however are those I call ‘Crouchers’. These are people who suddenly stop in front of you, completely block the item you’re looking at with their head and proceed to bend and stick their arse in your face. Mostly these people are elderly, but there are exceptions.

Other depressing, but honourable mentions include:

– Gift aisles that have you believe your Dad should like drinking himself to death, gardening, making farting noises with a whoopee cushion, wearing boring clothes and putting a ball in some kind of hole simultaneously.

– Children who wander aimlessly in front of you in a zig zag motion touching EVERYTHING with their sticky fingers.

– Sales assistants. I’m BROWSING WITH MY EYES. Leave me alone, this is harassment, don’t TOUCH ME! STOP SMILING.

– An array of faces like tired, stressed slapped arses in Clintons which are accompanied by contented crooning by Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra or similar. Such beautiful irony.

– Rubbish Santas. You know the ones, skinny with a false beard which is more sparse than your Uncle’s bald spot. They also often have a creepy twinkle in their eye and you imagine they regularly get drunk, slump somewhere and proclaim “MY KIDS HATE ME!”

Other than that, isn’t it just the most wonderful time of the year?!

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About braingristle

Girl. Brain full of whimsy, imagination full of peril.
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