I have finished my Christmas shopping!
I almost emboldened that, but I don't want to rub it in too much.
Yes, it's not even December, and I've whupped Christmas into a, um, Christmas-shaped hat, wrapped it up, tied a pretty little bow on top, put my hands on my hips, and proudly declared "That's THAT!" I'm so organised that I'm thinking about bringing the whole thing forward a bit - how does mid-December sound? We could do Easter in February.
Anyway, Christmas is done and dusted thanks to another of my notorious shopping expeditions with Sparky Ma. We used to do one a year; apparently we've done eight this year. Something to do with one of my spare days off work though, hmmm?
So we set course for Kingston once again, and once again I was quickly reminded how dangerous Sparky Ma can be when shopping. I was perving over iPhones in the Apple store AGAIN, y'see, and she did that thing she does where she innocently asks if I'm going to buy one. I say "eventually, but no, not today," and she picks one up and says "Ooo, aren't they nice. Won't it be lovely when you've got one?" I then look at the iPhone again, nervously glance at the price, and then she says something along the lines of "It's really nice…" and then I have to slam said iPhone back into its dock and scurry away as quickly as possible before her convincing skills break down my willpower like photon torpedoes through failing deflector shields.
Thank god the person on the door didn't ask if I "needed any help." I'd probably have shouted "NO!" and laid them out.
Potential impromptu iPhone purchase successfully avoided we subsequently whirled around the shops like two tornados through a Kansas cornfield, eventually ending up in Marks and Spencers and the department that deals with:
Is it slightly disturbing that I actually like the sound of my voice when I talk like a pervert? Anyway, yes, we ended up, don't ask me why, in the M&S bra department (Simon, if you're reading this - don't worry, it wasn't for you).
F**k me, I'm glad I'm a boy. There's such a bewildering array of lady-bits to choose from. As a boy, the biggest decision I have to make is whether I go for the Superman ones or the glow in the dark* ones. I mean, in bra-land there's pretty ones, perky ones, saucy ones, big ones, massively padded ones that look like they could deflect bullets, and WTF is a racer back?! All I need to know is will the strap at the back withstand a quick flick of my stanley knife? (whupp-ah, smooth!)
Eventually, though, even Sparky Ma got pissed off with the choice. Sometimes too much is too much. And that's saying something when you're a hardened shopper like Sparky Ma.
Anyway, after a solid six hours of shopping - during which time I also successfully managed not to buy a cool shirt because I'm being good with money - all my shopping was done and dusted, and we piled into my car and sped off for home. I'm not afraid to say that I'm officially smug at the moment; heck, even the woman who served me in Borders when I bought wrapping paper was amazed that I'd finished - especially so because I'm a guy (I didn't even have to show her any ID to prove it. Or my penis). She said I should totally get an award; I'm thinking something in the Queen's New Year Honours List. Nothing fancy, just a CBE or something.
Another reason to be pleased with myself? This, my friends, is my 500th post.
*Seriously - glow in the dark pants? Won't they be ever so slightly radioactive?