User:Orian57/12 Days of Cristmas/Day one

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Day One: December 23rd

I really need to remember to do this earlier in the month. Christmas shopping. Still at least Woolies is staying open late today. It’s weird shopping at seven in the evening, though. Especially considering nobody else is; I feel like I’m intruding somehow.

I walk along the entertainment aisle, pushing the trolley in front of me and humming along to the Cliff Richard song in spite of myself.

I stop at the DVDs and wonder out loud. “Ok then, what to get for Mr step-brother?” My voice shatters the stillness in the shop and the girl behind the counter looks at me like I’m mad or drunk. Shit, David! Remember: keep the internal dialogue internal! It’s only socially acceptable to speak if it’s to somebody. In a desperate bid to disguise my colossal error I pretend I was speaking to the girl. “Do you? Have any ideas what I should get Mr step-brother?”

Oh for fucks sake! Drop the ‘Mr’ business already; it sounds sexual!

She sighs and fixes that lets-love-life-together-dear-customer smile on her face before walking over.

“Well that depends, sir. How old is your step-brother?”

I don’t actually know, I realise but the words “Twelve ninety nine” tumble out of my mouth regardless. She looks at me and I start rambling to explain why I said that, just so she doesn’t think I’m stupid or something. “Sorry I mean twelve. It’s just I saw your offer and I got the ninety nine in my head and – obviously he’s not one-thousand-two-hundred-and-ninety-nine that would be impossible most humans die at about eighty…” I keep talking but even I stop listening. Oh great you’re talking about death now. It’s Christmas you don’t talk about death at Christmas. Maybe I’ll die though, crushed under the giant W outside. W for Woe. It did look a little squint when I walked in. “And so that’s why I said twelve ninety nine. He’s twelve.” I conclude with growing uncertainty.

“Ok we’ll maybe he’ll appreciate this.” She says handing me the B-movie spawned by a bad cartoon. “Lots of parents have been buying this recently.”

She’s lovely isn’t she? I should get her name so I can send a letter apologising for being such an ass.

She walks back to her till and I roll the trolley on. As I walk I throw in some CDs for various cousins.

I need to find something for Mr step-mother now. Casting around I see bed linen. You can’t go wrong with bed linen. Nice, clean, non-offensive bed linen. Sorted.

Better get something for the boss now. It shows my loyalty. Like a child brining an apple to the teacher. A little bit of arse kissing never hurt anybody. Unless they see it as a come-on, then the teacher might molest the child. Oh god I hope I don’t get molested!

I know! I’ll get Boss Man a light bulb, one of those energy saving ones. A slight irony considering it’s a electricity company and it’s an inexpensive irony. Nothing can go wrong!


Except it can.

A few hours later I was at the office party. Shuffling in the corner and nodding my head vaguely in time with Wizzard’s “I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday”. The whole scenario reminded me entirely too much of my school Christmas ball.

But tonight I had a mission. My sweat was starting to dissolve the wrapping paper around the bulb but I hold onto it; don’t want any of these monkeys entering it into the secret Santa. Sure wont be a secret who gave him this ball of good-natured irony.

I'm pushed back and the punch spills all-over me. Sandra leapt into my face cackling at the hilarity of destroyed party clothing before drunkenly begging me to dance.

“Come on David you’re such a bore! Dance with me, it’ll be funny. Bet you can’t dance!”

She grabs my arm and drags me into the middle of the room despite my protests. Oh god it’s a slow dance with Sandra. I may as well be dancing with death. I bet death is more attractive. And people wouldn’t be laughing if I’d pulled death. They’d be running in fear then.

I let out a small chuckle.

“Aye! See David, you can enjoy yourself!” Sandra bellowed preceding a large belch.

Yes. Yes I am enjoying myself. I am.

Then I stand on her foot. Like some weird reverse bin she vomits all over me. Much like at my school ball I run to the toilets tears welling as the hot reek stings my eyes.

I don’t make it there though as I run into Richard; Mr Boss Man.

“Oh hi Richard! You’re just the person I was looking for. I got you this Christmas present. Oh and I hear that there may be a promotion going after the holidays?” Smooth! Could anything sound more like you’re fishing?

“Er are you OK, David?” He made a move to open the slightly soggy box.

“Yes, yes I’m fine – It’s a Christmas present, don’t open it now!” I yell over zealously.

“Are you drunk David?” He asked me, with a stern parental tone. “And eugh! Is that vomit!?”

“It’s not mine! It’s Sandra's.”

“Stop there, David. You know how I feel about liars. I won’t have liars on my team, David.”


I won’t have liars on my team, David. I won’t have liars on my team, David. I won’t have liars on my team, David.

The words rattle around my head as I toss and turn in bed that night. There was something so familiar about his tone. Something demeaning and disgusted.

Then a horrible thought strikes me:

“Shit! I forgot to get dad a Present!”

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