Well, that’s all the Christmas shopping done.
I have to admit, that when I got married – all them years ago – the brobdingnagian task of choosing and buying Xmas gifts suddenly became far more lilliputian (look at me coming over all Jonathan Swift there!).
It was a hated weight lifted from my shoulders by someone far more suited to the task than myself. Yes, having breasts – it seems – better equips a person for the hours of drudgery involved in traipsing from shop to shop in search of that elusive “something different” to give to your loved ones.
Of course, Mrs Masher doesn’t do ALL of it (much to my chagrin). She refuses to go out and buy her own presents, but she does at least make me a list and that makes life so much easier.
And this year was the easiest ever: I shopped smarter and did it all online.
All of it.
Never even left the house.
And, if I can persuade her that all the little boxes stuffed under my desk in the study are actually for someone else, I reckon I might even manage to get her to wrap them for me.
Christmas present wrapping: something else again, that those with breasts seem to make a better job of. I mean, I’ve bought the paper and sticky tape, but if she wants her slippers to not look like they’ve been wrapped by a tramp who’s just finished his third bottle of meths, she’d really be better off wrapping them up herself.