I might be having a bad day (I am! Don't ask or I'll tell you and an hour or so later, we'll still be here except I'll be vomiting on your shoes from hysterical crying and you'll be wishing you were dead), but some of you people have had baaaaad Christmases.
Take this, from Pearl for instance on the crushing of romantic illusions:
So much of what my current husband told me was a lie. [Ed: Pearl recently married aged 41]
Sports? Never heard of them!
Read? Why else would he have all these books?
Travel? We'll go to Europe!
A bad man. A very bad man. Sports? I have now seen women's college basketball play-offs on TV. Read? The good news? He reads the paper. The bad news? It's the sports section. Travel? Not likely! He doesn't like to fly.
A married couple's first Christmas: a romantic, softly lit scene of murmured love, yes? Yes?
I received two gifts that year. An enormous, non-folding umbrella.And a calendar. "What?" he said, as I burst into tears. "But it's a Lord of the Rings calendar! You like Lord of the Rings!"
Things are better now. He's agreed that he is a lying bastard and I've agreed that he is right.
You will also recall the horrors of the comments box.
- Anon I changing bedpans in the care home as her horribly transformed boyfriend suffered Christmas day alone with Anon's mother.
- Potty Mummy's vagina gaffe. "I still remember the silence now".
- Ptooie's ice storm of hell
- Emily and the naked ex pictures topped off with "the seasonal gift of a break up"
- Anon II with the Chatty Cathy doll and molesting relative
- Expateek trying to cancel Christmas
- G's Adidas gift set ("It would seem that the person with whom I have the closest genetic match in the entire world has decided that I am a cunt")
- This from Katyboo - the year Tilly refused to wear clothes at all and spent the whole meal naked except for a paper hat, perched on a stool, scowling and eating sausages - actually sounded like fun. Maybe we should all try this approach? Actually, no. Scratch that.
- Mrs Farty ended up near death's front path and Mr Farty had to do the ironing!
- Siddalee's Mormon momma going out to lie down on the train tracks after her daddy got drunk!
But I'm afraid an early front runner stole my heart. The winner is Grit with this:
My worst christmas ever was the one where uncle eff, the church organist who usually locked himself in the attic, declared at 1am he was just popping out to the gay massage parlour in town, so leave the door unlocked. this was followed by the arrival of aunty vee, the evangelical harp seller from wales, who had come to steal some more of the furniture. my mother had died seven months before, my mother in law ten months before, the triplets were aged under two and no-one had thought of buying any drink for christmas or new year. if this wasn't enough, my husband had embarked upon celibacy. We were on the verge of divorce and had I been sane I would have attempted suicide.
There is just such complexity and richness in the horror of this tale. The infant triplets! The mystifying spousal celibacy! Horrible relatives! Death! Absence of alcohol. I can barely allow myself to imagine it. I also like the way it raises as many questions as it answers. Was Uncle Eff living with them? Why? Why had the spouse taken a vow of celibacy? Grit, you win the Advent calendar. You can use it for educational purposes for the Gritlets. Uh, somehow. Please detail how. I think we would all enjoy that.
Runners up: Anons I and II, even though Anon II, I did ask you to provide more prurient detail and you haven't. And Siddalee. Your horrible horrible stories also deserve some small and probably plastic recognition.
If you would all like to deposit your addresses in the waffle mail box, I will brave the wilds of the post office for you. People DIE waiting in that place. They petrify like in Mother Shipton's cave and get turned into civic ornaments. And noone cares. But I will go because I am lovely like that.
Also, let me leave you with this beautiful seasonal story, which captures the spirit of Christmas whilst simultaneously guaranteeing that I will have to preserve my anonymity forever. One year lost in the mists of antiquity a certain male person in my immediate entourage was tremendously excited to have come upon a small quantity of class A narcotics on Christmas Day. They bore the substance home with much festivity and rejoicing in the manner of a particularly plump and juicy turkey and shared it with great glee with a certain female person also in my immediate entourage.
"I can't feel ANYTHING" complained the female person some hours later. "I feel exactly the same as usual".
"It's Christmas Day and you haven't cried a single fucking time" said the male person "It's working".