I made Christmas dinner – Next year we’re going to the fucking pub

One woman bought 25 bottles of bleach, and another a forrest worth of plants. I was hyper self aware, hot, sweaty and frustrated, like at the end of a successful date.

Usually we go to my mum’s for Christmas, but this year she couldn’t be fucked and wanted a quiet one with her partner, I know why now.

I’m a single dad with two kids and I was actually relishing the idea making Christmas dinner for us all, and so, I invited my dad around too. It’s just a glorified Sunday roast, right? Is it fuck.

My first mistake was doing my shopping on Mad Friday, thinking everyone would be out on the piss. How wrong I was, Morrison’s was packed to the rafters with sad cunts like me, some just disorganised and scrambling for last minute food like semi inebriated zombies, but others were just fucking twats plain and simple.

One woman bought 25 bottles of bleach, and another a forrest worth of plants. I was hyper self aware, hot, sweaty and frustrated, like at the end of a successful date.

I picked one of those small old lady trollies, because the aisle signage hadn’t yet told me I needed to spend around 180 quid on shit that would definitely only fit in a full sized one and that no one would fucking eat.

I bought corn flour for fuck sake, you know, to thicken the gravy for my perfect meal. I bought enough nuts to eradicate the allergic population and no cunt even touched them. Capitalism bum fucked that me day, mistakes were made and lessons were learnt.

Then came the big event. Daddy was hungover to fuck because he was adamant we should leave Santa a full bottle of bourbon this year. The stupid irresponsible cunt.

The presents had been opened, the paper binned, the carpet vacced and all was well. I had all day to prepare, the ham was in the slow cooker and I didn’t have to pick my dad up for hours.

At 4 o’clock I collected him and hurried back to check on my roasties, then 20 minutes later the microwave was pinging, the kettle was clicking, the veggies were over boiling and I’m attempting to make real beef gravy, just like that fucking cunt lipped Jamie Oliver, with the roasting tin on the hob, adding my fucking cornflour and stirring.

Only Jamie wasn’t surrounded by a mountain of fucking pots with shit everywhere and an old man mocking him about the fucking ease of Bisto.

It took hours to make and just 10 minutes for everyone, including myself, to declare we were all full. Don’t get me wrong, I did a good job but I made far too much, I just over faced everyone. The beef has all gone now but there’s a massive ham in fridge that I can’t fucking bear to look at.

In short It’s just not fucking worth it. I strongly suggest you all call your mothers and grandmothers up and tell them you’re going to a pub next year. Give them a fucking rest, they deserve it.

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