You’re a Mean One, Ms Grinch

It’s that time of year again: Christmas. The older I get, the less I enjoy Christmas. I’ve styled myself as quite the humbug. Sure, I’ll join in the festivities, but Christmas has lost all its sentimental value for me. Here’s my definitive guide to everything that’s wrong with the festive season.

Christmas starts in September, if you’re lucky

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As soon as summer is over, people immediately jump onto the Christmas bandwagon. Sometimes, summer isn’t even over before they do it — have you ever watched a shopping channel on TV and seen shit like ‘Christmas in July’? What idiot thought of that?! Halloween hasn’t even passed and the shops are decked out in premature Christmas decorations. People start counting down the days like it’s the bloody be-all and end-all. Turkeys are slaughtered earlier and earlier each year. It’s so enraging that I almost feel like protesting against premature Christmas celebrations. IT’S JUST WRONG.

There’s always a silly argument

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Inevitably, you’re stuck with your family for Christmas. Familiarity breeds contempt and before you know it, someone has said something extremely offensive and Christmas Day is ruined. Either that or you argue about exactly how long the turkey should be cooked, even though it comes with clear instructions, and not only have you had a falling out, but the turkey is drier than Gandhi’s flip flop.

You’re perpetually hungover

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December shouldn’t be named as such. It should be ‘Hangomber’ because pretty much as soon as the clock strikes midnight on 30th November, you’re drunk until New Year’s Day. Fortunately, I am immune to hangovers so I don’t know how awful they truly are, but I hear they turn you into an extra cast member of The Walking Dead. You still have to show your face at work, no matter how many times you’ve vomited on the journey there. How is that any fun?

Festive sweets and puddings are shit

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Here me out on this. I’m not slagging off the good stuff like chocolate. I’m talking about Christmas pudding, Christmas cake and mince pies aka The Unholy Trinity. They basically contain the same ingredients and those ingredients are an abomination to tastebuds nationwide. Who in their right mind would eat dried fruit out of choice? And who decided that all three Christmas sweets needed the exact same ingredients, just cooked in a different way? Fruit should be eaten fresh, juiced or made into alcohol. It should not ever be overcooked and shoved into three separate things that all appear during the same part of the year from which you cannot ever escape. Think about it: you have already encountered all three forms of this dreadful combination of fruit and spice. And you shall many more times before the year is out.

You always get at least one rubbish gift

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Despite putting thought and consideration into all of your gifts, some family member gets you something absolutely awful and you have to grin and bear it, pretending it’s what you’ve always wanted, never mind the fact that you want to hurl it as far as you possibly can and then set fire to it. And because they’re family, you can’t exactly disown them. I mean, you could. Don’t think I haven’t had that thought before.

Christmas office parties are a booby trap

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Yes, you go and enjoy yourself. But either you get terribly pissed or someone else does and there’s a myriad of embarrassing stories on Monday morning which make you feel mortified. You want to run into the toilets and lock yourself in there until 5pm, frantically untagging yourself from photos where you look shit-faced on Facebook. You know you weren’t the only one who was an absolute wreck but you feel like you may just die of embarrassment.

Brussel sprouts

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Literally no one likes these but for some reason, you absolutely have to have them on the dining table as part of your Christmas luncheon. Apparently, Christmas is incomplete without green vegetables that smell like farts which all inevitably end up being thrown away in the bin.

No one ever kisses you under mistletoe

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Be honest, do you actually know someone this has happened to?

This is by no means an exhaustive list. I could go on and on about how rubbish Christmas is. New Years Eve is the real festivity to get your claws stuck into. It’s full of optimism, joy and alcohol. Christmas, no matter how ‘perfect’ you may think it is, no matter how much effort and hard work you’ve put into it, is always a disappointment.

Dating and Dickpics: Episode 13

13. Unlucky for some. But as someone with seemingly endless bad luck, I like to think 13 can signify some sort of change.

Well, unfortunately, there’s no change here. I was recently at work on a Wednesday morning, quite happily tapping away on my keyboard and coding paperwork, minding my own business and listening to Drake (obviously) when my phone vibrated against the cool, hard wooden desk I’d placed it on. I figured it was one of my friends trying to arrange plans for the weekend so I didn’t hesitate to open it.

It was an anonymous dickpic.

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Scarred for life

I’m not entirely sure what’s worse: a dickpic from a man you know or a dickpic from a complete stranger. Both are intolerable in my eyes and both are embarrassing but perhaps more so from the stranger because they are under the false illusion that somehow, their penis is so magnificent and aesthetically pleasing that you will jump on the next tube to their place naked.

I told the dick in question that his actions were repulsive and that I was not interested. I told him the sight of his ghastly manhood made me want to vomit. He proceeded to call me a whore. Right, I’m the whore. You’re the one who sent a picture of your genitals to a stranger, but I’m the whore. I preceded to destroy his logic by telling him that clearly he’s the whore out of the two of us because he’s so desperate for sex that he’s flashing his penis to an anonymous person. He then used some colourful language and after telling him to have a quick one-two pump in his hand because that’s all he could manage, I blocked him.

Lesson? I will always call you out on your bullshit and I will always have the last word if you dare disrespect me.

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Queen of Effortless Clapbacks aka me

There was another guy who decided to stumble his fuckboy-ways back into my life. He texted me after months and months of silence. His excuse? He’s ‘choleric’. In case you wondered, he’s talking about one of the Four Temperaments which have been wholeheartedly disproved. This was his oldy-worldy way of saying ‘I’m a fuckboy and I’m only messaging you because I want sex and for some reason, I think that I’m so special you’ll break two and a half years of celibacy for me’.

Any guesses on how I dealt with that?

Did I:

  • A: Express my wonder at him texting me again and partake in some polite conversation?
  • B: Make it crystal clear that I am looking for something serious, not a party in my pants?
  • C: Explain how much of a fuckboy he is, only for him to beg for another chance?
  • D: C, but sass him down and block his sorry ass?

The answer is D, because I don’t suffer fools gladly. I was a little shocked that he had bothered to text me but then again, if a fuckboy wants sex, they will magically remember the number of anyone they ever met with a pulse. I don’t think he actually remembered me. He did vaguely describe the night I met him but I really could’ve been any girl he met in any bar in London. He was horny and desperate. I am neither of the two and I have exacting standards.

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I’ll call you out if you’re a fuckboy

Remember how earlier on I was talking about how 13 is unlucky for some? It seems that this installment of D&D shows a change in luck, for I was recently with someone who met my exacting standards. We spent some time together and it was absolutely magical. It was, quite simply, the best weekend of my life (and I’m happy to say he also enjoyed it). He’s a good friend of mine and someone I feel extremely comfortable with. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I don’t have to be perfect. My imperfections aren’t a big deal to him. He makes me smile uncontrollably and laugh like a complete goofball. The best bit? I managed to successfully introduce him to my real, true love, Grey’s Anatomy. It’s all very early days but I’m excited and for once, I’m happy. Long may it continue. And although I love all of my readers dearly, I hope this is the last Dating & Dickpics I have to write in a very, very long time.

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It wasn’t as cheesy as this but considering I’m a 20-something Bridget Jones, this picture seemed appropriate (note: I am cheesy)