I hate Christmas shopping. I hate Christmas shopping so much, in fact, that the majority (if not all) of my shopping is done by the first week in November. There’s no stress in doing it in October, the deals are still there, and you haven’t got to deal with all of the faux Christmas joy in all of the shops or the manic, crazy Christmas shoppers. And if you think I’m going anywhere near Oxford Street between the 10th of October and the 10th of January, you’re out of your effing mind.
This year, however, there was a change in responsibility. N gets tired of hearing me whine and moan about being the “Christmas Fairy” and “making it all happen.” So he offered to take control this year and give me a break. I’ve got a lot going on, I’m in perpetual pain and have been since earlier this year, so against my better judgement I gave in.
You know why I’m the Christmas Fairy? You know why I have it done by early November without N? BECAUSE THAT’S THE ONLY WAY IT GETS DONE, THAT’S WHY.
I should have known that N’s offer, which to be honest did actually sound too good to be true would be just that.
So I spent my evening, battling it out in the stores and getting about a quarter to half of the shopping done. Because why? Because we’re less than three weeks away from heading to America for Christmas. Because we’re exchanging gifts with N’s family this Saturday. And because NOTHING has been done about it. Because if it were up to N, I’m pretty sure everyone would just be getting whatever he could pick up from the corner shop the day before Christmas.
I so got shafted this year.
One guess who’ll be wrapping the presents this week?
For the record, this advert is nowhere near sexist, it’s just downright true:
PS – Oh. And yeah. I have to go to Oxford Street for someone’s gift this week or next. Yeah. Fan-freaking-tastic.