I was standing in a very long queue at Waterstones yesterday, buying yet another dog-related product (in this case quite a sweet book at a very reasonable half-price) that the Pocket Dictator had tried to shoplift. No-one tells you the perils of pushchairs and low-lying shelves at your NCT classes do they? In order to avoid being ‘nicked’ I have spent a fortune on things I didn’t want this winter to appease irate shopkeepers. Anyone would think I am actually a criminal (gasp!) Behind me a couple were talking about their apparent nightmare teenagers and gifts they still had to purchase:
Him: “What is it I need to get in TKMaxx?”
Her: ” [mutters something]”
Him: “But how will I know what it looks like?”
Her: “I could come with you but we’ll have to be quick- I’ve got to be at the hairdressers at 7.”
Him: “I could just give them cash. Teenagers like cash.”
Her: “Yeh, but you never know what they’re going to spend it on…”
Long silence whilst everybody in the queue, who were clearly listening to the long saga of their difficult teenagers, came up with various things said “ados” (as they say en France) could squander some dosh on.
Thus the divine dulwichmum’s blog (whose life I secretly covet, darling) who is running a competition in association with Western Union, got my attention. If you have seen yesterday’s Thought, you’ll know that I’m not in the most festive frame of mind at the moment and thus in the perfect frame of mind to discuss the Worst Christmas Present I ever received
A Happy Holidays Card. Seriously, and you’ll have to bear with me on this. Way back when I was an aforementioned teenager (who would, incidentally, have LOVED cash for Christmas) I worked as an au-pair in Germany getting ‘life-experience’ before going to University. Whilst out with the nanny posse, we met the American Soldier posse (get the feeling you know where this is going…) and, to cut a long story short, I became engaged to one. We were very much in love, spent all our spare time together, had our lives planned out, yadda yadda. I went off to University that September whilst he was posted to Bosnia, we hugged and cried and swore that we’d write every day until we were together again. And I never heard from him again. Except for that single Christmas Card. From him and his wife.
Cash would have been better. I’d have used it to buy a voodoo doll to torture.
Go on! You know you want to tell me what you think!