Christmas, continued
Dec. 24th, 2003 04:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenWaaah.
I hate Christmas. Hate it with a heartfelt passion. Last night, my mother decided that yes, we should do something for Christmas. Not exactly the best timing ever, but what the hell. So Pedar and I went out into the garage looking for a Christmas tree. I would like all persons present to erase all their mental imagery. We are not talking a thing of beauty here. No tall, spreading, fragant coniferous creation draped with strands of tinsel and the glowing glass artistic product of Laushca. We are talking about a solemnly dusty, vaguely green edifice that says on the box that it is a Christmas tree. Pedar and I had more fun with it than we would have had with Ikea self-assembly flat-pack furniture. After false start number three, he said, "If we call ourselves scientists, we should read the instructions!"
Having read the instructions and followed them and then carried the ensuing object into the hall, it turned out to be a fibre-optic tree. It changes colour every few seconds and is without a doubt the most gloriouly kitsch thing I have ever seen. I love it. It will eventually be returned to the garage, where it will fall into the sediment and be dug up thousands of years hence by confused archaeologists, who will declare it to be an ancient twenty-first century winter solstice pagan symbol and place it in a museum where thousands of people will file past every day and gasp at its quaint, low-tech glass fibre beauty.
I decorated it with baubles and a bit of tinsel. Didn't break any baubles this year, which was good, and while I did it Pedar draped fairy lights all over the place, which was also good. Having done all this, I then realised a Christmas tree ought to have presents underneath it. A quick search of the house revealed a grand total of exactly one present. I shoved it under the tree, where it looked very sad and began to melt. I then decided to break with tradition and put all the cards under the tree. They look quite nice, particularly when the fibre optics are white.
That was yesterday. Today, Pedar didn't go to work, so we ran some errands in Formby. I went to see Tony. He says he's interviewing next week. That is, for the job he told me he'd give to me without offering it to anyone else. I couldn't very well say that to him, but it made me depressed. I'll go and be interviewed, but I won't get the job. Someone else will.
Our other errands were in banks (which are all giving out red wine and mince pies) and then, food shopping. Tesco's had run out of Christmas cake, mince pies, cream, cranberry sauce, lightbulbs and the Daily Mirror. I threw away my shopping list in disgust, and so we came home. My mother rang again. She's actually thinking about Christmas presents. She has an idea for Pedar - a book, which she is buying with all the book tokens the school gave me (she said, "Do you mind?", and what could I say?) - and she asked me if I wanted anything. "The Two Towers DVD," I said, but she rolled her eyes (on the phone, which takes some doing) and told me she'd never heard of it. The sad thing is, I believe her when she says that.
She has just arrived home, judging from the noises in the kitchen.
I hate Christmas. I hate it. Pseudo-religious excuse for everyone else to have a good time.
I hate Christmas. Hate it with a heartfelt passion. Last night, my mother decided that yes, we should do something for Christmas. Not exactly the best timing ever, but what the hell. So Pedar and I went out into the garage looking for a Christmas tree. I would like all persons present to erase all their mental imagery. We are not talking a thing of beauty here. No tall, spreading, fragant coniferous creation draped with strands of tinsel and the glowing glass artistic product of Laushca. We are talking about a solemnly dusty, vaguely green edifice that says on the box that it is a Christmas tree. Pedar and I had more fun with it than we would have had with Ikea self-assembly flat-pack furniture. After false start number three, he said, "If we call ourselves scientists, we should read the instructions!"
Having read the instructions and followed them and then carried the ensuing object into the hall, it turned out to be a fibre-optic tree. It changes colour every few seconds and is without a doubt the most gloriouly kitsch thing I have ever seen. I love it. It will eventually be returned to the garage, where it will fall into the sediment and be dug up thousands of years hence by confused archaeologists, who will declare it to be an ancient twenty-first century winter solstice pagan symbol and place it in a museum where thousands of people will file past every day and gasp at its quaint, low-tech glass fibre beauty.
I decorated it with baubles and a bit of tinsel. Didn't break any baubles this year, which was good, and while I did it Pedar draped fairy lights all over the place, which was also good. Having done all this, I then realised a Christmas tree ought to have presents underneath it. A quick search of the house revealed a grand total of exactly one present. I shoved it under the tree, where it looked very sad and began to melt. I then decided to break with tradition and put all the cards under the tree. They look quite nice, particularly when the fibre optics are white.
That was yesterday. Today, Pedar didn't go to work, so we ran some errands in Formby. I went to see Tony. He says he's interviewing next week. That is, for the job he told me he'd give to me without offering it to anyone else. I couldn't very well say that to him, but it made me depressed. I'll go and be interviewed, but I won't get the job. Someone else will.
Our other errands were in banks (which are all giving out red wine and mince pies) and then, food shopping. Tesco's had run out of Christmas cake, mince pies, cream, cranberry sauce, lightbulbs and the Daily Mirror. I threw away my shopping list in disgust, and so we came home. My mother rang again. She's actually thinking about Christmas presents. She has an idea for Pedar - a book, which she is buying with all the book tokens the school gave me (she said, "Do you mind?", and what could I say?) - and she asked me if I wanted anything. "The Two Towers DVD," I said, but she rolled her eyes (on the phone, which takes some doing) and told me she'd never heard of it. The sad thing is, I believe her when she says that.
She has just arrived home, judging from the noises in the kitchen.
I hate Christmas. I hate it. Pseudo-religious excuse for everyone else to have a good time.
