Ho, fucking, ho.

Jebus inna barn, I hate Christmas with the sort of burning passion I usually save for exes and Mary Kay saleswomen. But I especially hate it when during my busiest time of year, I discover that Dear Husband hasn’t done any shopping for his giant freaking tribe of a family, and I have less than 3 days to get everything together to make a dozen or so Xmas baskets.

Shopping with full blown PMS and a whining, tantrum throwing, sick kid that has to go to the bathroom every 10 minutes is my absolute favorite way to spend a day. And it’s only going to get better as Boy and I try to make all the craft stuff he wanted to make for everyone in the tribe of Republican Doom.

My kingdom for a small, well stocked private island in the South Seas. It’s summer there now, isn’t it? Balmy sea breezes…natives decked out in tans, oil and flowers? Yeah? I’m totally having a Gauguin moment. I shall go live with the natives and paint them. Maybe I’ll do a few canvases too…but mostly, I want to paint the natives. Rawr!

But instead, I’m going to go supervise making plaster of paris reindeer and chocolate xmas tree lollipops. (How in god’s green earth am I going to make chocolate green?) On the plus side, Hobby Lobby had a huge sale on plaster of paris, so…yay.

Hate Christmas. Hate it so very much.

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