Oh god. The dreaded time is upon me. That horrible time of year when not only every shop is covered in tinsel and blaring cheerful, ear splitting crap, but time to start thinking about presents.
Not for me. That I’ve finessed to a choice of three, in this order: money, books, pedicures.
But for the hordes. The mass-produced-by-unskilled-labour hordes of family and friends who pretend they don’t want anything.
And I refuse to buy kak presents. I will not buy socks, arb chocolate or Clicks toiletries. I absolutely refuse to buy gift packs, hankies, 3-for-1 specials or ties. Or underpants. I will not succumb to the present drawer staples of soap and Badedas and scented candles. No matter how much Aunt Mabel might profess to like them. I refuse.
And, naturally, I’m short on the kind of loola one needs to buy truly personalised, gorgeously chosen and deliciously wrapped presents.
Which makes Christmas a nightmare. A nightmare of indecision and debate. Of looting and searching and hunting and foraging and fighting. Of both hideously festive Macro and that tiny place in Parrow that only does those little thingies your cousin Sophie loves. Of parking and driving and sweating and skiving. Of hysterical, screaming lunch hours and late night Canal Walk horrors. Of ho ho ho’s and endless streams of musak. Of lots of jolly good commercialized fun and not enough industrial strength valium.
Don’t get me wrong, I love buying presents. All the time. For no particular reason. But Christmas kills me. Too much pressure. And for what? A pile of ripped wrapping and a turkey stuffed, post frenzy dwaal? Maybe this year I’ll be Hindi. Or Jewish. Or just plain Stooge-like.
Oh god. How many days I’ve I got left?
I think you summed up my xmas angst perfectly!
And it’s still only November…….
in tiny voice:
help me
pop into the Cape Town fish market for sushi and big glasses of white wine before attempting any shopping at all. If you’re in Canal Walk that is…
Buying presents is my favourite thing! Weird, I started shopping today at lunch in Gardens
I have this friend who gets socks from his parents every year. Can you imagine…. 33 years of socks??
I do something really horrid and recycle presents … but only to people who get me crap ones (soap and the like) or people that don’t get me anything. There is only so much insence, candles and kitchy trinkets (of the dust collecting variety) that one person can have. So they become birthday presents or flat warming presents to some very deserving candidates.
re-giving. Sharing the tacky love. And yeah, agreed, it’s fine to re-give if it’s going to the random present pile…housewarmings, birthdays for acquaintances or arb family…you know!
And how many socks can one oke have. Although, thinking of the state of some socks I’ve seen recently, maybe more socks should be given?
My mother buys and wrapps and puts in my stocking…packets of tampax. I kid you not. Seriously.
I love it
OK, I thought socks and hankies were sad gifts…. but clearly I was wrong. Tampax. Joy!
Well a girl can never have too much Tampax… heheheee
but only if I can return for copious wine refills inbetween. Like a refreshment station. For scarred shoppers.
are a combo that says “Hosanna! Jesus is born!” to me…it just ain’t Christmas without them.
I prefer the V&A Waterfront. It’s cleaner, there are less screaming children, and there is generally less of a bloody-free-for-all atmosphere about the place. Oh yes, and there is CTFM.
Canal Walk has every shop know to man in one mall.
Great place to shop although it is riddled with screaming children and people who can’t steer shopping trolleys.
Leave much to be desired in the area of suspension and handling. And what sadistic bastard designed those corners so perfectly for piercing human skin?
Another thing I just lurve about the V&A is the tourists. They’re so cute. “Ver can I a copy of Ze Long Valk To Freedom buy?”
there are actually a whole lot of little demons driving those things…we just think we are.
And I like London. But it makes shopping reaaaally expensive.
My step sister is about my age and also recently married.
Every year she produces better gifts, and it’s not like she earns much more than I do… She’s just one of those organised, homey, creative bitches who knows how to put rafia on stuff *grits teeth*
I’m gonna have to come up with something genius on a very small budget. Hubby said I should give everyone cheese platters with cutting boards and call them… “Cheeses of Nazareth”
Tut Tut, men just don’t get it do they?
Yup…I have a cousin who bakes/cooks/marinades/etc stuff every year. Bottles of creatively marked chilli jam and oodles of dried rosemary pasta. Bitch. Why can’t she just sweat and stress like the rest of us. Who has time to bottle, for feks sake? I’m driven to one, but certainly not to fill it with baby artichokes.
You know whats really disturbing. When you get a beautifully wrapped wonderful present from someone you don’t particularly like or care for. Its freaky I tell you.
I usually check it very very carefully.
Wrapping?! All I can say is thank heavens for gift bags!
yesterday, its called the cheap shop/R5-00 shop.
They have these really beautiful and cute Christmas cards, I bought 24 cards with envelopes for R15-00, now is that a bargain or what. I’m sorry I’m not going to break the bank for Christmas this year.