Ah Christmas, coming as it does, with astonishingly relentless punctuality, but once each and every year. And we all know full well what comes with Christmas now don’t we? That’s right, more food than you’ll eat during the entire month of January and the opportunity to exhibit one’s tinsel based tastelessness. I’m coming across as something of a humbug, aren’t I? I’m really terribly sorry, you’ve got me all wrong. I really do rather love the festive season, it’s quite the best. So what does absolutely anything I’ve said so far have to do with the business of building me up, buttercup? Well, hold your horses and wait one cotton picking minute my dear, we’re only just getting there.
It’s presents. It’s always about the presents at this time of year. Isn’t that what all the panic driven shopping was about yesterday and the day before that (not that I was out and about doing any of course. I was sitting smugly at home with all my gifts under wraps)? What are people going to get me? Have I matched them near enough in terms of heartwarmingness and value? Do I have back ups to hand just in case I didn’t? What if they get me something I truly despise? If that’s what they think I like then what does that say about me as a person? Am I thinking about this a little too much?
It’s all about expectations. Dropping the odd hint about stuff you might enjoy and, if all else fails and you don’t trust the judgement of those around you, telling people what you want to receive from them. But then there are those who like to surprise, who purchase mystery gifts in the hope that they’d invoke that extra bit of surprise. Is there any way to truly surprise people for those? Probably not, but try nonetheless. Merry Christmas.