It’s Christmas again, that magical season when normally functioning adults wear children’s jumpers unironically and you spend your late night shopping evenings grabbing presents ‘that’ll do’ and stepping lightly over the vomit-spewed pavements left behind by 12 Pubs casualties.
Come Christmas morning though, all the build-up and ball ache will be worth it as you get spoiled absolutely rotten with the exact same worthless tat that you somehow end up receiving every Christmas.
I remember with perfect clarity the disappointment of being a young kid on Christmas morning, ripping open the brightly coloured wrapping paper, hands shaking with anticipation only to be utterly disappointed, like when a Man United fans sees Wayne Rooney on a team sheet, to find that the present didn’t contain chocolate or a bike but socks. Boring plaid socks. I think we can all remember harbouring petulant childhood resentment against that relative who bought us socks. Those fuckers. Fast forward about fifteen years though and now there’s nothing more pleasurable than slipping on a brand new pair of comfy, foot-hugging socks. It’s like having your foot French-kissed by a god. You’re guaranteed to get a pair this year, only your age will determine if you’ll be happy.
The amount of fashion conscious teenagers who will be on the receiving end of an atrociously unfashionable jumper from their grannies this Christmas is greater than the number of stars in the universe. All you can do is plaster on an agreeably grateful face to mask your contempt for the jumper and only ever wear it around the house on Christmas Day before consigning it to the back of the wardrobe with that Ax deodorant spray, old shin guards and boardgames that you’ll never use.
We’re not talking about expensive nice aftershave, what’s more likely is that we’ll each receive a cheap, Aldi-brand deodorant aftershave collection that will have cost £3.50, will smell like camel piss and will end up being used by a younger brother for the purposes of attracting girls at teenage discos.
The bottom of the barrel of chocolate gifts, it’s not Lindt or even Ferrero Rocher, it’s a multi-pack of Cadbury’s rejects like Fudge and Bournville. Each of which is mysteriously reducing in size every year, much like the likelihood of someone born after 1985 ever owning a house or Jeremy Clarkson’s career.
Voucher For An Item That’s Obsolete
Being internet savvy millenials we see no reason to buy physical copies of anything anymore yet we’re still likely to be given a £10 vouchers for Golden Discs which is now about as valuable as a losing lottery ticket.
Some Best Selling Novel That Was Obviously Bought From The Airport Book Shop
Oh what’s this? Another random James Patterson novel that you’ll never read? Thanks! Although, look on the bright side, at least Dan Brown hasn’t published anything in a while.
Bubble Bath Even Though You Don’t Have A Bath
Are you a middle aged woman who enjoys beauty treatments, spa days and long, probably wank-filled bubble baths? No, well then, a gift of some bath salts probably isn’t for you. Won’t stop you getting it though.
Why every year must we receive it? It’ll amuse for about 15 minutes on Christmas night before the family descends into embittered drunkenness, or more likely now, solitary phone scrolling as we all avoid talking to each other to play Candy Crush on our phones while Santa looks on and cries.
If you do happen to get a present that you’re too much of a spoiled fucker to appreciate remember that there’s people out there whose idea of a good Christmas is a decent meal and a new pair of boxers so don’t throw unwanted gifts away but look for any one of the local charity drives in your area who’ll give your unwanted gifts to those in need this Christmas. Or you could sell them on eBay…