So this is Christmas.
I hope you have pud.
This being my first Christmas, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I mean there are just so many unknowns! When do I write to Santa? Who is cooking the turkey and how do I maintain a summer body in December… it’s near impossible! Then there’s the shopping, decorating and the endless Christmas catch ups, which – if we’re honest, are just an excuse to drink prosecco and eat mince pies. However, I am quite enjoying those horrific Netflix Christmas movies. You know, the one with the Prince and the snow… the sequel. Oh it’s so bad it’s good! And the Gavin and Stacey Christmas special – the BBC’s finest achievement in my opinion.
Yet all this fuss has got my thinking… who on earth is in charge of styling this event?
My human, of the female variety, is also determined to have me look like my heart is full of Christmas spirit. I hate to tell her it’s full of stubborness and naps. Who wants to wear a ridiculous Christmas themed bow tie?! Just you wait for Christmas day, because I know she’s got a reindeer costume that she can’t wait to strap to my chest and pull over my ears. The fit is horrid and simply does me no justice, yet little does she care. Her Instagram following increases and my popularity inflates her ego. Good for her!
The humans have also erected a tree and tried to decorate in a tasteful fashion, with little success might I add. It looks like the 1980’s have thrown up all over the front room. My room, to be precise! Red, gold and green baubles and shit everywhere. Honestly, have some class!
Wouldn’t it be better to skip all the nonsense and just by kind one another. Just kidding… hand me my presents!
Merry Christmas though…