Parenthood and Christmas Eve: Releasing my inner pisshead(Part 1)

Every single year, the week before Christmas is mental busy, getting everything ready, finishing buying presents and then wrapping the damn things(I fucking hate wrapping presents), and then the dreaded food shop, and I look forward to that point on Christmas Eve, around 5-6-7pm, when all is done, the table is set, everything is done, and I can sit down.

And get absolutely fucking smashed.

I’m not a huge drinker, but I love a drink.  A nice glass of cold Prosecco, a shot of Baileys, a cheeky cider, mmmmm.

As I’ve got older it’s less about the cheapest shit available to get me as pissed as quickly as possible, and more about finding a nice tipple to enjoy, and get slightly silly at the same time.

The hubbo had the perfect quote last year, when we had finished dinner, and he announced it was time to get merrily fucked up.

God, I love that man.

I love a good traditional Christmas – I’m not a regular churchgoer but I do follow religion to an extent, and the whole meaning of Christmas to me is so special.

The two year old is excited and has a mass of presents, and I can wait for him to open them, same for hubbo and our family, I love seeing people’s faces and reactions to Christmas presents.

Me, I’m not fussed if I get sod all.

But I do enjoy getting shit faced. 

Any other time of year, if you did a food shop at 6am and your trolley was piled high with copious amounts of alcoschmol, there would be serious looking people from certain organisations waiting at the checkout to check you into rehab.

But Christmas is amazing, for a whole week you can get really fucked up any time of the day and no one bats an eyelid. Siiiiick.

Starting now, on Salted Caramel Irish Cream Liquour, out of a measuring glass as I can’t find anything else, it’s lush, strong, and enhancing that warm fuzzy feeling.

Alcoschmol makes the chemical menopause and it’s vile hot flushes so much worse, I’m currently slightly sloshed cooking dinner and dancing to Band Aid running with sweat and burning alive from the inside out.

Sing that shit Bob Geldof, cheers.

Merry Christmas Eve all!


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