Christmas Eve. A time for relaxing. Perhaps throwing an insane amount of wine down your neck at an early point in the day so that everything goes smoothly... Finishing up the last few little tasks in preparation for the big day.
Yes, possibly. But seemingly not if you are a parent.
Today the good lady stood on a podium in the living room with a loudhailer and a short whip and barked orders at random intervals, mostly to me.
Daddy, there are presents under the floorboards which I hid that you will have to find and wrap for the morning!
But what about the giant rats darling? Won't they have my arm off?
The whip cracked as it snapped out and took off half my ear.
It's a chance I am willing to take.
I returned from the floor space, a little dusty but all limbs intact. The little lady was stamping her feet and screaming something about carrots for Rudolf.
The good lady was red-faced and trying to be diplomatic as possible in the face of a berserker. I walked past with my suspiciously disguised bag of presents and ruffled her hair with a free hand. Never mind the giant rats, for a moment I thought the little lady was going to take my hand off.
When I returned back from wrapping the house, seethed with stress. Another tantrum was being had by the little lady, something about something being HER CHOICE. I attempted to calm things down by shouting about the noise.
Both the ladies of the house glared at me, alright alright, I got it. I left and organised many many more things which required to be done. Somewhere unbidden the memories of Christmas as being quite enjoyable leapt into my mind.
Oh no, not now old man.
I told myself as I dragged an elk through the snow to the firepit.
The noise from the house died down. I decided I had best go back in and assess the ostracisation levels.
I walked tentatively into the lounge. All was quiet. The good lady had poured me a glass of wine. I looked at it suspiciously. Was this it? Poison old jaded Daddy bear and collect the winnings?
The little lady saw me and carefully picked up my wine glass and bought it over as if balancing on a tightrope.
Daddy, would you like to hear a joke?
Eh, yes, go on lass.
Why did the banana go to the hospital?
I don't know, why did the banana go to hospital?
.
.
.
Because he wasn't peeling very well!!
I laughed, she laughed, we all laughed and suddenly Christmas Eve didn't seem so bad any more.
