Christmas season is upon us. The time when even the most civilised of us lose our tiny minds in a desperate bid to keep everyone happy and not get ourselves in so much debt we have to remortgage our house. Whether you exhibit all of these seven deadly sins yourself, or you see them in others, shall we all agree to do a shot of baileys every time we spot one? Like a boozy Christmas bingo?
From showing everyone you meet that video of your kid as the 4th Shepherd twice removed in the school nativity, to bragging about still losing 6lb over the Christmas period at your slimming world group, pride does not win you any friends over the holidays my friend.
Be silently proud, sure, but John in Accounts has probably had to listen to his own kid sing ‘Little Donkey’ 48 times this week, you can be sure he doesn’t want to listen to yours. Poor Janice at slimming world face-planted a box of celebrations and ate all the malteasers ones (and the galaxy caramels but she isn’t admitting to those). If she hears you say you lost 3lb last week and 3lb this week she might just beat you over the head with a box of hi fi bars.
Like poor Janice, Christmas brings out the fatty in all of us. Mince pies? Sure, they’re mini ones I can eat at least 6 without feeling guilty. Hot chocolate? Practically a human right when the weather is this cold. Going to Costa to try everything remotely festive on their menu is RESEARCH people, RESEARCH. Once you have completed Costa, move on to Starbucks.
Oh lust. A familiar emotion you feel as you write your lengthy Christmas list. You lovingly fold down the pages of everything you want in the boots catalogue, or sit salivating at the Zara website and you WANT it. You WANT IT ALL.
The darker side of lust is watching the new girl get it on with ‘handsy Dan’ by the water cooler at the office party. Poor girl, someone should have warned her that he will now believe himself to be her boyfriend and she will never live this night down.
‘The boy did good <3’. VOM. If I see that all over Instagram again this Christmas I am deleting my account. Your husband bought you a hoover. A Dyson, yes he’s not all bad, but a bloody hoover nonetheless. You do not want to see the Chanel handbags and Tiffany necklaces that everyone else got. No I can’t be happy for you and no I’m not proud of it.
Exhibited by your kids if they realise you spent £5 more on their sister than on them, or that you couldn’t get hold of a Hatchimal. You’re not proud of it but you also show signs of it yourself, when you see someone grabbing that last said Hatchimal in the black Friday sales. god forbid you bring down the wrath of Nan if you forget that you agreed to bring the pudding on Christmas day and you turn up empty handed.
The lovechild of gluttony. You eat so much you literally can’t move. Then your Nan brings out the cheeseboard and you find just that little bit of energy to drag yourself to the table. The brie isn’t going to eat itself. This one needs very little explaining.
This one’s easy. Millions of pounds will be spent across the UK buying our children shed-loads of stuff that they probably won’t even play with. I’m not judging, I do it too. Who remembers as a kid counting how many presents they had and comparing it with how many your siblings or friends had? It doesn’t get better as your kids get older either, it goes from the number of presents to the value of said presents. F**k you Sadie from across the road‘s mum, spending £500 on her child at Christmas and setting us all up for months of moaning about how we clearly don’t love our offspring as much as you love yours.
There you have it, I hope you are all merrily tipsy on Bailey’s by this point, or even the Aldi version which is actually pretty good. Bah Humbug.