Christmas has come and gone without too many tears and an unfortunate absence of mail-order husbands.
This might have had something to do with my insufficient understanding of exchange rates in order to purchase enough stamps, a severe lack in six foot something hunks who like writing poetry and doing the dishes, and quite possibly something to do with the miniature nature of my letterbox.
I did however receive three pairs of underpants that were obscene proper from my mother (surprise surprise), some reindeer chocolates from the nicer neighbours, and a parsnip in a pear tree. My present to myself was a gift of one night’s accommodation to the Santa Cause which made me feel a little better about gorging on animal shaped chocolate with underpants on my head as I watched Star Trek re-runs on the telly.
Here’s to a pimple-free New Years Eve,
Ms fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la M.
