Dangerous and I don’t do Christmas. “Is that allowed?!” Crazy K screamed, even more shocked than the time she caught me dancing in my pants to Abba. You know that thing when people have Mad stuck in front of their name – Mad Gill springs to mind – but they are frighteningly sane? Well, Crazy K is really crazy. Top of her xmas wish list is a trip to the loony bin where the temptation to over-eat is curtailed by a strait-jacket.
My idea of a great diet is a pack of Biocol Labs Something for a Detox Week; hers is being chained to a pole beside a chamberpot. The Priory is for pussies; she wants a Nurse Ratched nuthouse. Last xmas Crazy K gave us His and Hers monogrammed colonic hoses (“unused”), when we would have preferred a Complete Body Cleanse Kit or a cup of Gentian Bitters. Dangerous has been phobic about opening unsolicited gifts since Mad Jen sent him a set of “spy soaps” she made out of hamster jobbie.
Mad Jen insisted they are “one of a kind” except there were four of them. If I was still being stalked by her, I’d ask for the Soapsmith set this year. My favourite present is the plastic jobbies from my henchgirl Silver. Proust had his madeleine; I have happy memories of super-glueing a plastic jobbie to Maddie’s Rolls Royce. “What kind of beast climbs up on the bonnet to do that?” she asked, poking the shit with a stick. “We’ll have to sell the car.”
“What will the garage say if you drive in with that thing on it?” my dad said. Your mum can give your dad a black eye any day of the year, but when it happens at xmas it sticks in your mind. Times of compulsory cheer make it statistically more likely you will get bloated or be glassed by a family member. The stress of pretending to enjoy yourself while dreading the January credit card bill makes some folk suicidal.
My xmas wish was always that Maddie and Daddy would get divorced. As Aunt Vagina says over the flaming pudding, at that moment of calm before Maddie’s crash helmet hair has ignited, “Families! We hate each others’ guts but we’re the same flesh and blood.” Some of us have more flesh than others. Of course I accept gifts; which is my sociopathic way of joining in without actually participating. If you want to suck up, get me something from my VH Wish List; ideally the LixirSkin set.
NIOD is my great love but LixirSkin is my secret boyfriend. I know it’s about the product, not the packaging, but I’m mad for the flesh pink boxes. I love the scent of Universal Emulsion, and have to resist using it every five minutes. And I love being able to use Electrogel cleanser on my eyelids. Don’t wait for xmas! Surprise me now! Father Christmas is the most uncool dude on the planet with the possible exception of the manservant and his tinsel tutu. If a fat man wants to wear a red jumpsuit I’ll be the first to give a big hoki koki, but let’s not make it an ill-fitting one in scratchy fabric.
In any normal society, an elf-pimp who enters the bedrooms of short people via the chimney with cotton wool covering his face would be arrested. Parents spend all year telling their kids not to talk to strange men then take them to a department store and pay to push them into the lap of a fat man in a face merkin. Lewis, my four year old friend, was outraged that store Santa was drunk and had no “cows or chickens” in his sack.
Even Creepy Neighbour, who mad fancies Santa – and everyone else – is feeling the strain as big bloat day approaches. “I have to find somebody to blackmail to pay for xmas dinner at Claridges,” Creepy explained, going through the bins with help from a nosepeg and torch. At least I don’t work in an office and have to face a party with mistletoe sex pests, alkie bores and aggressively cheerful waiters after big tips.
Dangerous and I will not be joining the family round the flashing tree to boast about how much we’ve spent and pull Nice & Nasty xmas crackers. The nasty ones contain a stink bomb and the nice ones a sticky sweet that hauls out at least one of your molars if you’re too polite not to eat it like touchy-feely Uncle Harvey who at least has a spare set. While the Moneys try to out-swank each other, Dangerous’s blood relatives hold a praying competition and have the knees to prove it. A jar of HV in xmas stockings all round, if they weren’t too Presbyterian to accept presents.
Before I married Dangerous I used to stay in bed reading and sleeping until it was over. Now on xmas day we walk the deserted streets of Soho with no fear of assault and battery from stalkers dressed as Santa. Everyone is safely in their suburb, blootered on a beach or stuffing themselves with turkey. You are what you eat, and who wants to look like a dead old bird? Double Strength Hyaluronic Acid tabs should be compulsory for everyone over twelve.
While creepy neighbours yo ho ho I’ll be in my sound-proofed bathroom with a bottle of Retin Oil to give me new skin for next year. It’s also a great floor cleaner if you happen to spill it in the excitement of filling the bath with De-Stress Himalayan salts, Deep Sleep bath oil, lavender bath bombs, and Bloomsbury bath soak. By my side there’s a Complete Bliss Tranquility candle and my bestie SDSM which improves everything; possibly even Creepy Claus if he dares to come within squirting distance.
Don’t wait for Creepy Claus…gift yourself a copy of Spying on Strange Men