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Christmas, like an orgasm, it’s all about the build up. Afterward, regret sets in but it’s too late. Christmas was left me with 5lbs of ham in my refrigerator, 5lbs of fat on my ass, and an itchy cat…yeast infection from hell. Someone who loves me thought I’d enjoy cheap bath salts from the grocery store. I did for the moment but now my hands are doing things they’d rather not. Oh and did I mention the huge burn on my thumb? Another person who loves me thought I’d enjoy making animal shaped pancakes for spirited toddler. It was fun until the elephant wouldn’t let go of the food leaving me no choice but to reach inside and try to release the pancake. Let’s just say he won but I put up a fight. Speaking of burns, Santa Claus brought spirited toddler the easy-bake oven he wanted but it’s pointless when I’m doing the cooking, he gets too excited to even sit still and stir the cake mix. Here I am, a trained chef trying to cook with a light bulb. Last night I left the sugar cookie in for too long and the edges burnt causing a toddler to tantrum leaving me to question my culinary abilities. If I can’t cook with a 100watt light bulb, what good am I? I realized later it was just stress and exhaustion catching up to me. Looking back, now I know why it was so stressful, I did everything. For Cute Hubby, it was like Santa really did come to our house, he woke up to a magical day wondering how it all came together considering he didn’t do shit. “Did we get my parents anything?” “Shut up.” After opening up presents, we quickly ran outside to try out the new baseball bat that daddy swung a bit too hard leaving spirited toddler rolling on the ground screaming in pain from the baseball that almost knocked him unconscious. Is Christmas really worth all this? Next year I’ll try to have realistic expectations remembering to take care of myself first, like an orgasm.
