My boss came to me this week and gave me my working hours for Boxing Day.
– When you’re trynna make it, you just gotta do what ya gotta do. Working on Boxing Day is one of those painful, I’ll-definitely-end-up-regretting-this-decision things that I literally just gotta do.
“Yep, sweet, sounds good!” I said, thinking about the 8am-8pm, 12 hour shift I will be working while everyone at home is lazing around in beanies, socks, and gloves. Luxuriously sipping hot chocolate in our new and amazing part-time home in Fulham.
It was a painful thought.
“Great!” My boss said. “Wow, next Thursday is going to be a long for you!”
“What? Why?!” I said, worried.
“8 till 8?” replied my boss.
“NEXT THURSDAY?!” I yelled. Actually it was more like a squark.. If I’m being honest.
“Next Thursday is Boxing Day, Olivia. Get with it!” She joked as she walked away.
I didn’t even change my mouth-wide-open-eyes-about-to-pop-out-of-my-head face as she walked away. I stood there for a good few minutes resembling one of those clowns at the carnivals with the mouths that you have to throw balls into.
HOW is next week Christmas? How have I TOTALLY managed to not even know my favourite, most exciting, eat-myself-sick, yay for presents, Festive Season was upon us?
Maybe its because I’m not at home with my family this year? My Mum, in particular, who loves Christmas to be on steroids every year. Bless. Our house literally turns into a Christmas Carnival, you can find things like:
Pictures of Santa Clause on the walls.
Baubles hanging off every inch of the ceiling with fishing wire (that actually happened, and trust me when I say my Dad was NOT impressed. Baubles on the ceiling, adorable. Paint being peeled off the roof from the sticky tape, not so adorable).
Christmas style table cloths.
Matching Christmas table settings.
Presents wrapped colour coordinated to each other with amazing bowes and ribbons. Enough to make any human drool.
Christmas themed cakes and sweets in every cupboard and snap-lock container you can find.
The only thing missing from the Djuradeli Household is some theme park rides, maybe some Fairy Floss and I’m thinking a “Get a Photo with Santa” set up. Then it would be complete.
Its full on. BUT its amazing and always gets me into the Christmas Spirit.
But then I thought it could be the weather? Back home, nothing says “Christmas Holidays” more than amazing weather. Shorts, singlets, swims in the pool, trips to the coast and shutting all the curtains because if you don’t you die when the heat gets in.
Perhaps my brain is confused? Perhaps it is frozen in a Winter Mind State? Quite frankly, I don’t blame it. It could be that my connotation with wearing coats, gloves and beanies = Late June, early July. Like it has been for the first 20 years of my life.
My third theory was that it could just be because I’m 21 years old and have more things to worry about that whether or not my letter to santa made it to the North Pole. Caused me serious issues as a child, understandably.
I loved the Old Geezer, Santa, that is. But I was always just a liiiiiittle bit scared of him, to be honest. Don’t really know why.
I think it all stemmed from one Christmas Eve, when I was about 6 or 7 years old. I was lying in bed wide awake, too excited to sleep when I heard walking up the hall way.
Oh My God.
That is DEFINITELY SANTA, I thought.
I was trying to track his footsteps to see what he was doing. He was walking so heavily up and down the house. Was he lost? He has to remember so many different houses, maybe he can’t find the tree?
Wait, my tree is RIGHT next the fire place, which would mean he would come through the chimney and land right in front of the Christmas Tree?
What is this guy DOING?!
Now keep in mind, these are the brain processes of a 7 year old girl. All I’m thinking is, there is an old Dude in my house right now, walking up and down the hallway, possibly bearing gifts, possibly bearing cole. I was kinda naughty that year? But I didn’t think I was too bad?
I was WORRIED.
I hear Santa stop at what sounds like, right outside my bedroom door. I was so afraid that I stayed so bloody still, my head under blanket in the middle of summer. I didn’t even care about the dripping sweat from my forehead, I did not want this stranger anywhere near me.
Then I heard the door open and a light turn on, along with a fan.
He went into the toilet?
And started peeing in the toilet.
Santa, SERIOUSLY?? Using MY toilet?
I know he’s busy on Christmas Eve, but you couldn’t hold it instead of giving me a heart attack in the middle of the night? Is it even legal for Santa to use anyone’s toilet? Do you have to sign permission for that? Does Santa even pee..? My 7 year old brain was running a marathon, as you would expect.
Oh, and I hope he put my presents under the tree before he went to the bathroom.
Because I didn’t hear him wash his hands and thats gross.
I woke up at 5am the next morning (typical Christmas wake-up time for a child) and instead of running to my presents, ran straight into my parent’s bedroom screaming how I definitely heard Santa in the toilet last night.
My Mum and Dad were SO, what I thought was “impressed”, with the fact that I had heard Santa in the bathroom, that they encouraged me to tell my entire family that day. Which resulted in endless amounts of attention from friends and family that, being the attention seeker I naturally am, gave me much pleasure. So, I assumed it would be a great story to tell my teacher and friends at school.
Yeah… it wasn’t.
I had children in my class laughing at me, telling me that Santa was a fake character made up by parents and how silly I was for still believing in him.
“Nahhhh!” I would say. “They have the same writing because Santa tells Mums what to write on the presents! Thats why!” I defended myself, and continued to for years.
I defended that guy beyond belief. I was DEFINITELY going to get more presents than those haters next year, the Suckers.
Until one fine day when my Mum was reminiscing and said *crying of laughter* “Remember that time Dad went to the toilet in the middle of the night and you were convinced you’d heard Santa?”
So, Folks, that was how I learnt that Santa wasn’t real.
Traumatising? To say the the absolute least.
So…. What was my point to this story….
Cherish your friends and family this festive season. I know how much I love and miss mine, terribly.
At least they won’t have to take a trip to the emergency room because I’d eaten too much that I spewed.
Yes, that actually happened.
And with that amazing image left in your minds,
MERRY CHRISTMAS MY CHERUBS!
Sending you all of my endless amounts of love forever and always all the way from London.
Yes, that is my real name…