Tag Archives: Gifts

Happy Valentine’s Day?

14 Feb

I’m not in the mood (or the position) to make retailers rich today, but I am in the mood to make you laugh, and laughter is the greatest gift, so it’s a win for you, a win for me, and a win for my pocket. Assuming, of course, that my story, originally posted in 2012, amuses you. Image result for twelve days of christmas funny

A story of true love, it begins at Christmas…

Dear Judge,

I know I killed my True Love in a fit of rage but I think, once you hear my tale, you will have to acknowledge that I was provoked beyond what any reasonable person could stand.

Things started off well. On the first day of Christmas, my True Love sent me a partridge in a pear tree. A little weird, I thought, but I let it pass. To be honest, as the first day of Christmas is Christmas Day, I’d have preferred a turkey.

On the second day he sent me two turtle doves. Romantic, because I believe they mate for life, so I could see the symbolism. But he also sent me another partridge in a pear tree. What was that about?

Next day it was three French hens – or should I say, trois French hens? My little joke, Judge. I still had a sense of humour at that point. Plus two more doves and another partridge in a pear tree.

On the fourth day I was afraid to open the door to the postman. I was right to be afraid: ten birds arrived that morning, four of which were colly birds. Is there anyone on the planet who knows what a colly bird is? I think my True Love made that one up, or he ordered calling birds, but the shop saw a chance to finally offload the 36 colly birds they had lying around in the storeroom which they had ordered by accident.Image result for true love funny

Probably guessing from my enraged texts and emails that by now I was a little miffed, he had the good sense to send me five gold rings on day five of Christmasgate. I was mollified enough to think it would be okay to accept day six’s gift. Boy, was I ever wrong! Six – count them: one-two-three-four-five-SIX – geese-a-laying. The eggs would have been acceptable but I couldn’t get near them. Do you know how protective geese are of their eggs? I still have the bill marks on my legs. And it’s not nice to be hissed at by 42 geese (yes, 42; because he sent me six more geese who wouldn’t share, every day for the next six days).  It’s like I’m living in a really bad pantomime in the comfort of my own home – though there’s not much comfort to be had with 184 birds running around, making a racket and pooping like there’s no tomorrow. Which there wasn’t for those I managed to store in my freezer… Not to mention the 42 goslings under my feet, imprinting on me. It made shopping impossible.

Image result for true love funny

And yes, you did read that right, Judge: 184 birds in total is what my True Love sent to me. 226, if you count the inevitable babies.

But he saved the best for last, which I’ll call Day Seven, because it was. I may have been a little unhinged by this point. I refused to open the door so the delivery truck left my idiot boyfriend’s ridiculous idea of a love token in my tiny back garden: seven swans-a-swimming. Seven swans-a-swimming! You know what that means, don’t you? An inflatable pool! In my pocket garden! And not just one inflatable pool, oh no! SIX inflatable pools, because he sent me the same gift for the next five days, along with eight maids-a-milking, nine ladies dancing (I don’t even watch Strictly), ten lords-a-leaping (I’m interested in politics, yes, but not to the point of inviting the second chamber into my home – and the ornaments those old codgers broke…), eleven pipers piping, and twelve drummers drumming, right through my skull.Image result for true love funny

By the time I got the injunction against my True Love, it was too late – the neighbours had complained about the smell, the illegal poultry farm I had set up, and the music played at full volume at all hours of the day and night.  I was evicted by the council for antisocial behaviour.  I was homeless, penniless (having spent all my money on bird seed and feeding guests) and furious – mostly because all swans are owned by the Crown, so my True Love had scuppered the chance of me ever appearing on any future Honours List.

I admit to seeking out my True Love who, while big on romantic gestures, was a slacker when it came to paying for the upkeep of all those birds or feeding 140 people – though I’ll accept, the poultry and the eighty buckets of milk did come in handy there.Image result for true love funny

I also admit to pelting him with rock hard pears (they were out of season; what was the silly beggar thinking?) and, when that didn’t work, belting him with as many pipes, drums and drumsticks as I could lay my hands on. But the death stroke was, I’m convinced, administered by the swans, who didn’t like it when, weighed down by 40 gold rings, I fell into one of their pools and almost drowned whilst trying to pry the human leech off me.  I did manage to escape though he, sadly, did not.  All was not lost however – the sale of the forty rings to Gold ‘R ‘ Us paid for his funeral, and the cortege, comprised of my personal aviary, attracted media attention and led to my new career in reality TV, specifically, Come Dine With Me (which I won, thanks to some exotic poultry dishes), How Clean Is Your House? (not very, as it happens), and Farmer Wants A Wife.

So, dear Judge, I think you can see that I acted under extreme provocation while the balance of my mind was disturbed and my feet were in three tons of guano.

If you let me off, I will be free to marry one of the drummers, Bill, who has promised to give me only chocolates, toiletries and DVDs as Christmas presents.

I throw myself on the mercy of the court.

Signed, The Moulting Housewife

 

Dutch Treat

19 Dec
Dutch Treat Club - [cover drawing?] (LOC)

Dutch Treat Club – [cover drawing?] (LOC) (Photo credit: The Library of Congress)

Dutch Treat or, The Kind People You Meet In Blogging.

*

Knock knock!

Who’s there?

The courier.

The courier who?

The courier who’s bringing you a parcel and would like to get home for his dinner after a long day of traffic jams, bad weather and suspicious people who won’t open the door and take this *%^£! parcel off my hands so I can get back to my own wife and family.  We celebrate Christmas too, you know; they’d like me to be there.

An unexpected parcel arrives.

I open it (obviously).

Photo by Best DSC!

Who sent me a notebook?

A broken notebook, because I hear rattling?

No, wait!  It’s even better than an electronic gadget – it’s…food!

Photo by Best DSC!

Dutch food, from my kind and generous blogging friend, KiwiDutch. Please visit her blog, because it’s cheaper than sending a ‘thank you’ card.

We have eaten the perishables (yummy) and saved the rest for Christmas.

Thank you for the lovely surprise, KiwiDutch!

thank you note for every language

thank you note for every language (Photo credit: woodleywonderworks)

And while I’m thanking people:

Another Best Gift Ever

5 Oct

Did I not promise you I would blather on and on about my birthday?  Am I not a woman of my word?

I can’t let it go because I received so many lovely gifts, I have to share them all with you.  And because it gives me something to blog about when the ideas box is empty.

Elaine asked if you would see the beautiful jumper Viv sent me.

Yes, you will.  You would have seen it yesterday but the self-portrait I took of me wearing it was so awful, I didn’t want to share it.  As I have shown you some horrendous pictures of me in the past, you know it must be bad.

I would have taken a photo of the jumper on its own but I was wearing it and I didn’t want to take it off.  I haven’t taken it off since it arrived, except for sleeping and showering (which I needed to do because I haven’t taken off the jumper since it arrived).  The only reason you get a pic today is because I’m blogging in my pyjamas (if my ideas box stays empty, you may get a post about my pyjamas.  I’m definitely planning one about my slippers).

Here it is:

I love it.  Chunky cable knit with an owl – how could I not?  Best gift ever.  Thank you again, Viv.

I also received virtual gifts.  Elizabeth gave me an amazing doodle:

“Happy Belated Birthday to you! :-)
˜”*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°•.★★.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜
¸¸.•*¨*•░H░A░P░P░Y░(¯`’•.¸ *♥♥♥* ¸.•’´¯) ░B░I░R░ T░H░D░A░Y░ (¯`’•.¸*♥♥♥*¸.•’´¯) Hope you enjoyed YOUR special day!
║╚╦═╦═╦═╦╦╗ ║╚╦═╦═╦═╦╦╗ ║╚╦╦═╣╚╣╚╦╝╠═╦╦╗
║║║╬║╬║╬║║║ ║║║╬║╬║╬║║║ ║╬║║╔╣╔╣║║╬║╬║║║
╚╩╩╩╣╔╣╔╩╗║ ╚╩╩╩╣╔╣╔╩╗║ ╚═╩╩╝╚═╩╩╩═╩╩╩╗║
¸.•*¨*•.♪♫♫♪Happy Birthday .♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸ ♥Happy Birthday to youuuuu ♪♫•*¨*•.¸.•*¨*•♫
˜”*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°•.★★.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜”

Momopolize gave me a link to the greatest cake ever made:

See the decorations at the bottom?  If you don’t know what they are, go here for a close-up.

I received many, many good wishes from you, my lovely readers; thank you.  I really do appreciate them.

And finally, this, from Janie Jones:

You’re so ugly,

You’re so ugly,

You’re such an ugly child.

The clothes you wear are way out of style.

You look like an ape every time that you smile.

Oh how I hate you,

You alligator bait, you.

Why don’t you dry up and die?

You’re just a knock-kneed, pigeon-toed, worn out shoe,

There was a curse on your family and it fell on you.

Your teeth are yellow,

You don’t smell mellow,

You’re such an ug-aaa-leee chiiiiiild!

She must have seen that photo I suppressed.

As Miss Whiplash commented, my friends sure do know how to show their appreciation.  Go on over to Janie’s original post and thank her for me.

And no abuse!  She totally gets me.  I thought it was hilarious.  I’m considering eating a Malteser in her honour.  I might take a photo of me doing it.  

On the other hand, I don’t want to get chocolate on my lovely new jumper…

The Best. Gifts. Ever.

4 Oct

It started last week, when this arrived through the letterbox:

Then this:

And this:

Finally, this:

They were my birthday present from Sarah in Germany, who you know better as the disease, Sarsm.  An accompanying note indicated that there was something for an emergency supply; something fun; something addictive; and something that would help me deal with unwanted guests.  

The note didn’t arrive until the third item, so you can imagine my bemusement, especially with the rubber egg.

The best gift arrived last, on Saturday morning.  I was expecting a parcel from Viv (which turned out to be a beautiful jumper I haven’t taken off for three days. Thank you, Viv) so I assumed it was that, and I saved it for my birthday.  You should have seen my face when I opened it to find a pack of 30 paper plates.  I was on the other side of my face, but I know it was a picture of bafflement.

Thank you, Sarah, for four days of fun, laughter and what-the-heckness?

The best gifts ever

The Host Of Christmas Past

3 Dec
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  

 

Look what I got in my stocking

I couldn’t sleep last night – I ran out of decaffeinated Earl Grey on Monday and I don’t shop until tomorrow – and I lay awake thinking of past Christmases, so I thought I would share one with you; it’s an easy way to fill a blog.  Christmas 2006 was not a vintage year.  We got our turkey on Christmas Eve and it showed –  I have never been so disappointed in a frozen bird; it was as if that particular turkey didn’t want to be someone’s Christmas Dinner.  No meat on it at all.  Luckily, we also had gammon and duck, though the duck was an unpleasant surprise – so much fat on it, I know now why they don’t get cold on winter ponds.  We didn’t have gravy so much as artery-killer. 

Luckily, only Mum was having dinner with us that year, Dad having had the good sense to pop his clogs Christmas Eve 2000, once he heard I’d be cooking.  He wasn’t so lucky the year we had 22 for dinner and I remembered everything except the setting of the table, so everyone ate wherever they could grab a seat, some inside and some in the garden (in South Africa, don’t worry); and the greedy lot gobbled it up so fast that by the time I served the last plateful (mine) everyone had finished and I sat in lonely and tearful state with the Hub.  On the plus side, the washing up was done by the time I was. 

We had no problems at all in getting Spud to bed in 2006: he no longer believed in Father Christmas; hooray for the death of children’s fantasies!   – although he did wake up at three in the morning.  He managed to go back to sleep after rummaging through his stocking, but woke Tory Boy at 5:45, to TB’s vociferous displeasure.  Spud then climbed into our bed with the apparent intention of him no sleep, no one no sleep, so we gave in and were up by six-twenty.  Grandma was already awake, so it was simply a matter of toilet breaks, tea all round, video camera at the ready, and then the boys were allowed into the living room to receive their gifts.  Once they’d had a good poke around their booty piles we all sat to unwrap the under-the-tree gifts.  That took a good two hours, what with all the squealing and ‘thank yous’ and sorting of gift wrap, bows and ribbons into appropriate recycling bags.  

The Hub is a great gift giver.  That year, I got stuff from the White House, including a tree decoration, pin, and cufflinks which I am going to wear every time I have on a long-sleeve blouse, if I can only find them.   Unusually, no underwear, but furry socks and a large bag of Maltesers and lots of stocking fillers.   He also bought me the bread maker I so desperately desired.  I must be the only wife in the world who doesn’t hurl a new kitchen appliance at her husband on Christmas morning.  I had wanted one for ages and I used it every day for a fortnight; then about once a month; and now it’s just another dust-gatherer on top of a kitchen cupboard.   Why am I cursed with such a listening husband? 

The boys bought me thoughtful gifts: Spud bought me the Take That cd I was after (I had to have a little patience but I got it in the end) and a large box of Maltesers.   TB bought me a £10 book voucher and a large box of Maltesers.   How I love my children, especially when they spend their own money.  

I also love my mother, who bought me The West Wing.  Need I say more?  

Christmas dinner was delicious, reluctant turkey, oily gravy and all, and afterwards we watched a new dvd while Mum snored

Boxing Day was buffet day; a sort of ‘all-you-can-eat’ for the greedy amongst us, with me at the front of the queue.  I always do a buffet on Boxing Day because my Mum always did a buffet on Boxing Day.  I set it all out on a table in the lounge and we stretch out in front of the tv we taped but didn’t have time to watch on Christmas Day.  The only year since I’ve been cooking Christmas that I didn’t do a buffet was the year I didn’t cook Christmas because we were invited out.  That Boxing Day, the Hub and his offspring insisted I cook Christmas Dinner on Boxing Day because it didn’t feel like a proper Christmas without my Christmas Dinner.  Something to do with them missing the kitchen hysterics and burnt smell permeating the air, apparently.  Happy days! 

  

  

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