Chris-stress

Another fascinating online story today.
Travelodge, the hotel chain, commissioned a study into Christmas, the run up to it, the stress it causes, etc. etc.

Fascinatingly enough, half of men think women exaggerate the stress of Christmas, while a third think they could do a  better job of organising the festivities than their lady friend.

I’d like to see His Nibs effort at doing a better job than me. He wanted us to get a Marks and Spencer "Dine in for Two for €12.50" this year. 
The time he was sent to town for the selection boxes he ate two bars out of one of them on the way home. 
And even though he has to come up with only two presents, he doesn’t actually buy either of them.  I buy one, and take him around the shops pointing at the things I want for my own gift.

Having said that, I’m not a woman who sits up in the middle of the night yelping because I’ve forgotten to order a turkey, or starts grating bread into crumbs for the freezer in November. Because I’ve only made Christmas dinner once in my entire life, and that was just for His Nibs and me and one easy going guest, so it made damn all difference whether it was a success or not.  I suppose it wasn’t.

The roast potatoes were lovely, the gravy was instant, the turkey inexplicably came out of the oven looking like a large pork chop, having collapsed in on itself, and the stuffing was lost in the debacle, having squirted out of the turkey and landed in the cooking fat.  But I didn’t get stressed.  It was a dinner, no big deal.  I thought I was a bit of a hero, actually, to have made the effort at all.

And to be honest, I consider any dinner with Brussels sprouts a roaring success.  I didn’t care if the turkey came out of the oven in flitters, as long as there were sprouts.

My mother, who has run Christmas in the Murphy homestead for forty five years, is actually reasonably easy going also.  Fair enough, nobody is allowed into the gift zone (the sitting room) until fully dressed and fit to meet the world.  Shiny hair and makeup are encouraged – at half eight in the morning, can you imagine me?

But the year I suggested that we break with a lifetime's tradition, and resist opening our presents until three in the afternoon, when my brother would return from the long journey that visiting his daughters on Christmas morning necessitates, she just kicked in and went along with it. 

And she never discourages us from having a drinky very early in the day.  Maybe it’s because she is a teetotaller, and doesn’t take the difference between a glass of wine at lunchtime and a large brandy at eleven in the morning seriously.

I’m not from a family that gets into a massive state about Christmas.  I don’t really understand people letting it take over their lives for three months.

Every year, like every woman, and some of the men I know (very much excluding His Nibs, obviously) I make a list at least a page long of people who I need presents for.  I quite like buying presents, once I know what I want to get people, and if only every shop wasn’t packed to the rafters with other shoppers, Christmas music of ever increasing volume, and diminishing stock supplies.

I try to finish the gift buying about a week before Christmas,  then I wrap them all in one sitting, cutting fiddly bits of ribbon and curling and twisting it and sticking it to the paper in a way nobody except me cares about.  That part is a bit tedious, but there’s a great sense of achievement when it’s all finished.

 

I don’t get into an anxiety attack over it.  It’ll be fine.  All the people I buy presents for are quite fond of me, I hope, and probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid if I didn’t do it.  There’s no need to go into a state of collapse.

The Travelodge study also revealed that the week before Christmas is the worst of the year for sleep.  Apparently lots of people lie awake worrying about the festivities to come.

Now, I am not a bit surprised that some people wake up during the night in a sweat of panic about whether or not there’ll be anything under the tree for the children on Christmas morning.

Imagine my surprise when I read on to discover that the concerns at the top of the lists of those in the study are;

Keeping guests entertained

Planning meals

Getting embarrassed by a partner or child.

There’s a few quick answers to this.

Feck the guests, they’re getting their dinner, it’s up to them to do the entertaining.  The least they can do is tell stories and bring games (I recommend Cluedo, nothing like a good murder mystery to get the seasonal goodwill going) and do their share of making the fun.  There’s no such thing as a free lunch.

What planning the meals?  We all know what we’re having.  Just get everyone in the family to be in charge of one thing each, if it’s causing you to lose sleep.  We already have our plan for this year.  I will be in charge of roast potatoes and brussel sprouts.  But that’s because I want to make sure I get the lion’s share of them.

Finally, I don’t have any kids to embarrass me.  But believe me when I tell you, I’m familiar with the pain of having a partner who embarrasses you.  All I can say is that although it’s unlikely that he or she will ever learn to behave at this stage, there’s only so many times they can embarrass you before you stop feeling it.  Don’t worry about it.  One man’s embarrassing partner is another’s life and soul of the party.

Just get over it.  As long as Santy brings what he’s asked for, the rest will sort itself out.  Go to sleep and don’t be panicking over little things. It’ll be grand.

Mirror Fasting

I read a completely bizarre item in the newspaper the other day.

Apparently, women who can’t cope with the stress of having to look good all the time, in these image conscious days, are now avoiding the mirror entirely.  It’s called mirror fasting.  Allegedly, and I say allegedly because I read this in a newspaper, so it may not be entirely true, these women become so stressed about their hair, their makeup, their weight and their clothes that they have to do something to combat the pressure.

Have you ever heard anything so completely mental in all your life?

There’s actually a name now, for when you lose all hope of staying size ten, and looking twenty years old, and give up on the whole thing.

Mirror fasting.

In the good old days, which is sadly what I’m being forced to call my twenties now, it was perfectly normal and common to give up looking in the mirror for long periods of time. It was the halcyon days of grunge.  As long as you washed yourself, you were fine.

Even these days, I have far more non mirror days than mirror days.

I don’t look in the mirror when the infernal eyebrows are making a show of me.  Or when the snow white roots of my hair are showing.  Or most days, in fact, because the “falls back into place” haircut I’ve been tricked into paying for is standing out at all sorts of mental angles to my head.

But guess what?

I’ve never “mirror fasted” in my life.  I just haven’t looked in the mirror.  And I think that’s absolutely fine.

Who among us, in all honesty, is completely happy with the way we look?  Very few, I’d imagine.

I realise that I’m going to sound a hundred years old when I say this. But I really believe the whole nonsense of fake tan and fake eyelashes has gone too far.  If we’re going to live in a world where we have to have the eyelashes of Daisy the cow, and the hair of Cheryl Cole, just to go to work in the frigging morning, I’m perfectly happy to never look in the mirror.

I have a brain, and a personality, I hope.  And if I don’t, fake hair and eyelashes aren’t going to get me through life anyway.

I know I’m fat, and going grey, and should put on my makeup at six o’clock every morning, but honestly I cannot be arsed.  I’d rather spend the fifteen minutes getting an extra little sleep. 

I’d just like to make it perfectly clear that when I turn up in the morning with a visage that will frighten the life out of my colleagues, I’m not mirror fasting.

I’m just not buying into the nonsense of getting stressed out over my mirror image.