Being an adult is tough. The thing that is even more difficult though, is realising that although you might tick many ‘adult boxes’ (not a sex thing, I mean ‘receives bills (paying them is questionable), holds down a steady(ish) job, understands (but doesn’t always acknowledge) the affects of alcohol’) when Christmas rolls around, all your adult talent goes out the window – well mine does at least. The festive season reminds me, every bloody year that I am still and will forever be in many ways a child. People tell me that when I have children of my own, all that will go out the window and it’ll be ‘all about the kids’ – however these people clearly do not know me well enough. For one thing, I don’t think that birthing a poop producing, money draining brat would have the desired effect of forcing me to grow up – it would probably have the opposite and I would revert into being a child myself but secondly, who says that I will have kids? I’ve been told that I’d be a ‘fun mum’ – but a fun mum does not necessarily make a good mum…so I’ll certainly consider skipping the whole parenting thing for a while – until at least I get better at tying my own laces that is.
What are the things that have convince me every year at Christmas that I am a terrible adult? Well I’m glad you asked!
My Mum still buys me an advent calendar every year. Not because she wants to necessarily but because every year sometime in the middle of November I leave her subtle reminders to do so. And by subtle reminders I mean I set an alarm in her phone, there’s a note on her calendar and I’ll just come out with a verbal reminder in our weekly phone conversation. Without fail, an advent calendar appears prior to December one. “But Alicia” I hear you say, “Your mother is aging (soz ma) and will someday die” – yes it is a sad fact and one which I have of course accounted for. I am going to ensure that my Mum organises to send me an advent calendar beyond the grave every year. We live in a wonderful modern internet filled world – surely she can set up a payment and delivery plan with some website thingymagiggy?
I love Christmas – the glitter, the tinsel, the sparkles in general but one thing that I truly and wholly believe is that purchasing your own decorations is a move just as adult as buying shares in a company not just for novelty purposes. It’s way too real. For this reason and this reason alone I only have decorations in my house that have been…shall I say…organically acquired. Stolen. All my Christmas decorations have been added to my home after previously belonging to pubs, bars or relatives who I just didn’t care much for. This is a lesson in why ‘fun mums’ don’t always make ‘good mums’ because I developed this habit after years of watching my own mother bring home new decorations after drunken evenings at Christmas functions so I guess when I finally do get in trouble or caught out, at least I have someone else to blame?
While all my ‘adult’ friends have this thing that they like to call ‘will power’ (or as I like to think, they’ve just lost their sense of fun), I have none. Come Christmas time, nothing excites me more than those gross lollies that only come out once a year – in the shape of Santa, made of a hard marshmallow consistency and about as tasty as coloured cardboard – you know the ones. On top of that, I love candy canes, eggnog and I’ll never say no to chocolate coins – even if the chocolate that they use is the literal worst. While all my friends – and most of the white western world are saying no to sugar, all I can think about is getting my Christmas hit because isn’t that the reason for the season?!
When you are a child and you have a terrible singing voice, people call it cute. You sing at the top of your lungs and it fills you with joy and happiness however as you age and become more self aware you realise that no longer are you cute. People block their ears when you fill the room with your rousing rendition of ‘Silent Night’ that is, in no way, silent. You retreat, you stop singing for the most part and of course never ever for the love of God do you sing in a public place. You have too much self respect. Me? I missed that phase of my life – not that I have a good singing voice, I’ve just never been ashamed of it. I’m that girl in the toiletries isle at the supermarket singing loudly along to Wham’s timeless hit ‘Last Christmas’. You wish you could be me.
I LOVE buying presents – I enjoy the challenge of finding the perfect gift for someone and seeing (hopefully) the look of joy and wonder on their face when they unwrap it – mushy, I know. More than that though, I love receiving…presents that is. I’ll rip off that wrapping paper, making a monumental mess of the effort that my friend has gone to in getting it properly wrapped. What the fuck else am I supposed to do though? Gently unwrap the paper and save it in my craft box for the scrap booking obsession that I’m sure to acquire when I give up on hope, life and happiness? Sure, something like that. Get fucked. Christmas paper was mean for ripping to shreds – and then placing in the recycling bin like the good little environmentally aware gen-y that I am.
See why Christmas proves that why I can’t ever be a proper adult? I’m sure I’ll recall plenty more reasons over the coming days as the season gets into full swing but hey, I’ll probably get too drunk and forget to write them all down! Merry Christmas Bitches. xx
P.S I think maybe you realised that this post was a partial excuse for me to share photos of Cute Christmas Alicia either hungover or drunk from years past. YEAH – I used to be skinnier and had nicer hair, so sue me.