Sunday, 21 December 2008

No. Sleep. 'Til Christmas

Good evening internet. Does it feel like Christmas yet where you are?

Here it feels like Christmas, but in a testing centre for agricultural machinery. It is tremendously late at night, so late it is practically tomorrow, but the CFO is snoring like a tractor, and has proved impervious to all my tried and tested techniques (rolling him over, kicking him, sticking my finger up nose, garrotting him with duvet cover, hissing "SHUT UP" in his ear, putting my head right up against his and saying, loudly, "If you don't stop that I will fucking suffocate you"). Consequently I have had to come downstairs to move tree ornaments around in a neurotic fashion to give the tree the precise 'scandi minimalism meets repulsive plastic shit' look I am striving for. Hopefully tomorrow will be photo day, when I take pictures of everything I have promised you, from eyebrows to coat, to Christmas tree, because it needs to be seen. The tree looks like it is having some kind of acute schizophrenic crisis. It's screaming for help, I tell you.

The best tree ornaments are the senseless, hideous ones that get dragged out year after year, made of smashed up tin foil and baler twine and fossilised chocolate. I know this in my heart of hearts. At 'home' (yes, I am 34 and have not lived there for 16 years and she has been dead for five, but my mother's house is still called home to me) we had a range of these - psychedelic coloured lights, tin can circa 1979 with no distinguishing features but a matchstick glued to the top; cake topper made of white, slightly iridescent plastic, hideously mutilated army of red elves (known as "the lads"), looking for all the world like entrants in some kind of alternative paralympic christmas jollity event, Laughing Cow box covered in foil with two straws stuck on the back ("star"), balding purple tinsel circa 1975. Every year mum would plead with me and the Space Cadette to let her have a 'nice' tree, with white twinkly lights and no balding flocked Babycham fawn. Every year we would refuse, indignantly. I get it now, as I strive to have a 'nice' tree whilst conceding that I must accept the dead eyed knitted Father Christmas with his hot pink knitted flesh, the peculiar leprechaun figure made from a golf ball and pipe cleaners and a St Nicolas made from a collapsed water bottle and an economy sized packet of tenacious purple glitter. I am sorry mum. We were evil. Karma has come to get me though.

In further shocking Christmas developments, the inhabitants of Waffle Towers are refining their Christmas lists.

Fingers (who keeps telling me he is "hungry" for his - non-chocolate - advent calendar): surveillance equipment for secret cupboard - cctv camera, trip switch, electric fence (honest to god, he has asked for this and everything else on this list). Washing machine. Vacuum cleaner. Other domestic appliances, ideally conducive to cleanness and order. Lucky Charms cereal.

Lashes: Live cameleon. Other small lizards (various, must move fast and be mignon). Things on which to experiment (Hadron Collider, particle accelerator, raisins). Calculator.

CFO: Machinery (any). Cure for moth infestation. Reptoboost. Insulation. Wife.

Me: McQueen dress. Bedlington terrier puppy. Monifa the baby pgymy hippo. Small Vuillard oil painting. Silver Robert Clergerie shoes. Eyelashes. Unlimited spending spree in Magma. Fun. Wife.

One can only hope that liberal application of champagne on one side and chocolate coins on the other will cover any possible disappointments, but it seems more likely that the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth will be heard from one end of Belgium to the other.

Tune in tomorrow for possible photos and the results of the inaugural hibernation weigh in. Will they stay or will they go? Who is up for elimination in the crisper drawer? Place your bets.. Also, last chance for present clinic! Last edition will be Monday, so get your last minute difficult customers' details into Waffle mail.

Sweet jesus I can hear him from here - I am going to put earplugs up his nose. There isn't a jury in the land that would convict me..


Kate said...

Your children must be charming and perfect to ask for stuff like that.

Merry Christmas.

We're on our way to la France tomorrow where if I am lucky, my MIL will make me "pizza" because she knows I (supposedly) love it so much. Pizza = pâte brisée with ketchup on top with a couple mushrooms and a little bit of emmenthaler. What a treat. I know she's trying to be nice and show her love for me but how can I eat that? I hate ketchup

WV is "refuquis" which sounds like a French verb tense or something like "Ma belle-mère m'a refuquis quand j'ai dit que sa pizza était merdique. On se parlera plus jamais."

Anonymous said...

I want a wife for Christmas! I won't even snore in her ear. In fact, she can have her own quarters if she will just be the wife around here so I don't have to be.

Anonymous said...

That's not your husband you can hear snoring. It's mine. All the way from Australia.

Zed said...

Q can snore for Europe. My latest way of stopping him for all of 3 seconds is by hitting him over the head with a heavy pillow. If he carries on at this rate I think I will have no option but to bring up the sledge-hammer.

Z said...

I've suddenly and abruptly come to appreciate my husband. When he snores, he stops nicely when I kick him until he wakes up enough to roll over. You have my most heartfelt sympathy. As do Dani and Zoë.

peevish said...

I would wish for a wife but I know I'd never make her happy. She'd just end up leaving me. Perhaps a robot wife...

My favorite X-mas decoration of all time is a garland my Mom always puts on her tree. It is a string of cheap plastic bells covered in that large gold glitter from the 1960's which is always and forever falling off and getting EVERYWHERE. There are bits of the white plastic showing through and I LOVE IT. I don't know why. It has been at least 20 years since I was at my Mom's house for Christmas (she moves around), so I don't know if she even still has it. But I have such fond memories of that cheap piece of crap. It always got hopelessly tangled and we always cursed it, but it just made the whole tree look beautiful to me.

Also, I followed your link to Magma and now I want that stencil set.

p.s. best word verif. ever: coldspu

Pochyemu said...

Funnily enough, my mom told me SHE wanted a wife for Christmas, too.

At my request she made several million homemade chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. Both kinds are perfectly soft and gooey. I have eaten 7 cookies and it's only 14:25. She'd lose her Weight Watchers Leader badge if the WW ladies found out.

This holiday is going to end with me having to purchase the plane seat next to me. I'm not kidding.

Grit said...

these are excellent childrens santa lists and far better than pointless board games.

but i am suspecting that fingers and squirrel are deeply alike with the hiding and protecting stuff habit. there is something deeply controlling and spooky about this i find. squirrel will be good as a librarian because she will be able to tell you exactly where everything is, who had it last, and who is going to die for touching stuff that is not theirs. does that sound like fingers?

Waffle said...

Oh, Kate. I feel for you, really I do. Do you get those tinned coeurs de palmier? Mmm.

DCup - well, exactly. I will even buy her a Christmas present that is not an extractor fan.

Dani - is it ok if I stick toothpicks up his nose, do you think?

Zed - it would be totally justified. I'll be a character witness.

Z - does he ever wake up and look wounded? I get that very occasionally.

Peevish - they are the best. How we loved our tin can. Coldspu reminds me of tonight's battle with the writhing hordes in the cupboard. Ah! No! Flashbacks!

Pochyemu - did you think happily about your pathetic starving dog and husband as you chewed? I do hope so.

Grit - Yes. They sound very very similar. They must never meet or the universe will be ripped asunder.

Juci said...

Ladies, I avenge you all by snoring a lot louder than my husband does. Once I tried a product from the pharmacy that supposedly eliminates snoring and it did seem to work for two days, only on the third I discovered that I'm not supposed to use it while I'm breastfeeding. But it did seem promising, so maybe it's not too late for y'all to go get something like that to put in your fellas' stockings.

Anonymous said...

As I am about to depart for the wilds of Scotland where technology is regarded by my aged Ps as witchcraft, I will leave you with this: my mum's Christmas tree has three creepy stuffed birds with googly eyes and real feathers, a Mexican tin pink and blue armadillo, a Mexican tin yellow and purple steam train, a string of Swedish flags and about a thousand things made of cocktail sticks and string. It is mental.

Hope you all have a very joyeaux noel and a happy new year! Read you in 2009!


Waffle said...

Chantal - I think I need a photo. Good luck in the badlands.

bonnie-ann black said...

as the oldest of 8 children, i was the first to contribute to the long line of bizarre but beloved christmas tree ornaments... some of which now include only the heads of whatever figure it was, the tattered remains of a present decoration (actually, my parents now have tons of these), an infant jesus, perched on his manger, which is hung by his neck, because, really, there is no other way to hang him... the things we always insist upon (and my parents are now married over 50 years) are the things my father really hates. like the garland, circa 1940s that my mother's parents gave them for the tree... it is made of aluminium foil in shapes like little flowers. or, at least, it *was* 60 years ago. now it is is a long, long, long rope of squashed aluminum foil in varied colors that we *insist* must go on the tree. together with the large bulbs -- *not* the tiny little twinkly, non-dangerous ones. all our favorite ornaments are at least 50 years old, and we all try to find them on ebay and in thrift stores so we can have the same ones on our trees... and we all have stars on the top with a blinking bulb because one year my father bought replacement bulbs and got *one* blue blinking bulb. we insisted it must remain on the tree -- 44 years later.

oh, we're a very tradition minded lot. my mother calls us "christmas nazis".

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