At the vets this morning to collect some worming tablets and I spotted they were selling magic reindeer food. It sparkles so you put it out on Christmas Eve to lead the reindeer to your house.
Another lady there was buying some. She said, 'It's for my daughter. She's only three; she loves things like that.'
I was going to say I was buying it for the dogs but thought they might think I was a bit silly so I said, 'I'm buying it for my daughter too; she's 27.'
At which point the receptionist joined in. 'My daughter's 27 too and she still loves things like that. I still have to do a Christmas stocking for her.'
Well, of course. It's part of tradition.
It starts off with children being too excited to sleep and parents having to stay up till late on Christmas Eve to creep in with their stockings. Then it gets to the point that the children go out on Christmas Eve, don't get in until late so parents have to stay up late to creep in. Then it reaches the point Daughter is at where she goes to bed early but is too excited to sleep ... and so on. Parents are destined for a lifetime of late Christmas Eves. It's in the contract.
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Cleaning today and getting ready for picking up trees tomorrow. The bad news is that George has discovered that if he takes a running leap he can get onto the sofas. Then he prances triumphantly from end to end before burying his nose down behind the cushion so you can't see him. Is it wise to have one Christmas tree, let alone two, when you have a puppy? Of course, it's not. But as a puppy concession we won't have any chocolate on them this year. Or broccoli. George would climb a mountain for broccoli. (As long as it didn't involve any big open spaces. I'm hoping he's not slightly agoraphobic: he likes cupboards but not fields.)
