Dear So and So

Dear Body,

you clearly didn’t get the memo in which I very clearly stated that illness of any kind would not be tolerated in the run-up to Christmas. If a break-down was required, it should occur between 0100 hours on 26th December and 2300hrs on 30th December. I was happy to overlook the odd sniffle. Perhaps even a sore throat. But to go into total meltdown with pseudo-Bronchitic Fluey Whatever is totally unacceptable. There are hours until Christmas. And I didn’t spend three hours of my life making Brussel Sprouts from Ferrero Rocher so that I can spend the whole weekend in bed not eating them.

Sort it. Now.

Your wheezy owner.

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Dear Husband,

I am tired and sick and cranky. Just keep giving me hugs and Lemsip and lie-ins.

I love you,

Me x

PS- it’s Christmas Eve, traditional shopping day of husbands across the land. I have pre-purchased my stocking gifts and will leave them out for you. You just need to nip out and purchase some chocolate, ideally good quality and expensive but failing that, any selection pack from the local garage will do. There’s a bowl of tangerines out in the hall, so don’t forget to add one of those. And I’d really like to use my new breakfast-in-bed tray the moment I’ve opened it, so you might want to think about breakfast!
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Dear Wonder Hound

I know that you know that I know that you are far too clever for your own good. We both know who is the soft touch in this house. Cosying up to him will not change the fact that you sleep in your box, not our bed. Nor will it stop me from shouting at you when you crap on the carpet.

Shape up.

Boss Lady

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Dear Kidlings,

I don’t know how it is possible to be driven mad so regularly by two such adorable children. Neither did I know it was possible for that much snot to come from two such adorable children. Please do not wipe it on my clothes, dad’s clothes, the furniture, the carpets, the dog, or the Dry-Clean only throws. And when I ask you if you understand, don’t say “No.” I know you do, y’know.

With all my love, Mamma xxx

PS- all I want for Christmas is a full night’s sleep in my own bed, with no night-time visitors.

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Dear Mum

where the bloody hell are you???

Mwa x