T'is the season to be jolly, after all.
All the girl-jobs are pretty much done. Selecting and ordering the food, buying and wrapping all the presents (including a couple for me so it doesn't look too obvious that I haven't got any), liaising with the relatives, sorting out the schedule, all that: all done.
The tiny number of boy-jobs? Not done. Not even commenced. And let's face it, we're not talking about much here. Replacing some missing bulbs in the lamps before the visitors come. Getting the TV fixed. Unblocking the kitchen sink.
I asked him, when he was in town, to pick up four nice Christmas cards. Cue eye-rolling, moaning, groaning.
"Don't you have any cards at home? Can't you get some next time you're out? I'm really busy. Who are they for?"
Your son, your daughter, your mother and your brother actually.
Ho, ho, woe.
Interesting division of labour here.
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