Now, I’m not one to throw stereotypes around but in some households what a woman does for Christmas and what a man does for Christmas differs…
HOW A WOMAN DOES CHRISTMAS
- Rushes around like a maniac from mid-November until about 11.59 PM on Christmas Day, stopping only for a wee and the occasional shot of valium. Does everything from scrawling Christmas cards to buying presents for the world and their dog. Even though they don’t have a dog.
HOW A MAN DOES CHRISTMAS
- Midday, Christmas Eve. Realises it’s Christmas Day tomorrow.
- 12.02 PM. Starts thinking about Christmas presents.
- 12.15 PM. Discovers gift shop he always shops in has closed down. Disaster. Now what?
- 12.17 PM. Marvels at how exhausting Christmas preparations are. Almost gives up and heads to pub.
- 12.20 PM. Remembers Friends episode where Joey and Chandler shop at the Garage. Could he get away with that?
- 12.30 PM. Probably not. Pops into pub. Just for a bit of Dutch courage. And some inspiration. Pubs should sell gifts.
- 3.30 PM. Realises there is only an hour or so left until the shops close. Thinks about Garage again. Seems like a much more viable idea after 3 pints. Who doesn’t like a vanilla Magic Tree car freshener?
- 3.40 PM. Makes a mental list of who he needs to buy presents for.
- 3.42 PM. Calls other half. ‘Have ‘we’ got my mum and dad a present?’
- 3.43 PM. Wonders why other half has just hung up on him.
- 4.30 PM. Arrives home after a rather successful 47 minutes shopping. If ‘successful’ means utter crap.
- 4.35 PM. Suggests going for a festive drink to celebrate finishing his Christmas shopping. Imagines it must be ‘that time of the month’ when other half, with one hand up the turkey’s backside, gives him the finger with the other and screams, ‘ARE YOU HAVING A %*!#ING LAUGH?!?!’
- Goes to pub alone. Seeks solace in the company of other men also taking refuge from crazed and deranged women, all lamenting how they make such a big deal of Christmas. It’s only a posh roast dinner, after all.
Naturally, that is not what happens in our house.
You’ll never catch me with my hand up a turkey’s backside.