This Christmas Be Grateful, Be Classy and Don’t be a Twunt

Dear KK,

Well, it’s nearly Christmas time and you’re probably old enough to enjoy it a bit. Your Badass Auntie is not of the religious ilk, but thankfully for you and your sister, she is a fan of celebrations and likes to shop on Amazon.  Buying gifts for the family is so fucking much more fun than buying menopausal supplements and cheap kindle books – so I’m thankful for the opportunity to make my order history look a little less depressing. I sort of feel like an Amazon history is like a footprint we all leave in time to tell future humans about our lives.

Giving. Isn’t that a lot of what Christmas is supposed to be about? At least that’s what I hear. Of course to give, someone has to receive – so it’s about receiving too. Today I’m going to tell you about some of the fucked up concepts of giving and receiving I have experienced. Let’s start with charities.

I’ve worked for charities in my lifetime and your parents sort of do too, so we all understand that charities, at Christmas are definitely into the receiving part of Christmas. Oddly, many who give to charity are also heavily into the receiving part too, except what they like to receive is attention and praise.  This type of person likes to make a big show at Christmas, publicly announcing and praising themselves for the absolute wonder of their generosity.  ‘Hear ye. Hear ye. I officially proclaim that I am officially one of the most generous people in the universe and I present you with this evidence of my generosity. Please make sure that you state your gratitude clearly and remind me repeatedly what a wonderful person I am, lest I forget until next year.’  The fact that they are an utter arsewipe the rest of the year seems to all be forgotten during this ritual cleansing. The fact that the charitable acts they perform all seem to conveniently tie in with getting more business seems to be ignored.

Oh how I feel scroogilicious today. Let’s talk about some  of the other types of givers. This is one, you better not fucking ever turn out to be because I’ll be sending your Amazon gifts to some orphanage in whatever country is being bombed by the ‘allies’ at that time. This is the ‘I’ve been guilt tripped into being generous at Christmas and I’ll reluctantly do it as long as you pat my back and tell me I’m wonderful’. This is the pattern of the middle class family with spoiled children. ‘Oh honey, let’s teach the children about how wonderful it feels to give to those less fortunate at Christmas.’ ‘Yes, shall we?  Oh how delightful.’ The whole family dutifully dresses in Santa hats and stands in line to do the incredibly hard work of serving dried out stuffing, one sloppy dollop at a time,  to homeless people at the local hostel for a whole hour.  You might even thank your God for your blessings when you tuck into your not dry at all stuffing in your warm home after wading through a sea of expensive presents that will be forgotten by the following Christmas.

Then you have the people who announce to all their friends and family that they shan’t be giving presents this year. Instead they are adopting a fucking baby elephant. They’ll be happy to show you a photo of the elephant when you come to visit. There were some, like your Badass Auntie, who took pleasure in telling everyone that they were giving their gift money to beggars in the street so that they have a merry, drunk and high Christmas.  Sorry, but I get a certain type of pleasure from the self righteous twats, who would whine ‘but you’re only encouraging their addiction. You should give the money to a homeless charity because they know how to spend the money constructively.’  Really?  Fuck you. I’m sure that you’re not going to be feeding your own fucking addictions on Christmas Day, you alcoholic, glutton.  I hope you never find yourself freezing cold on Christmas Day hoping that you can scrape enough money together for a can of beer or a hit of smack. Might not be your idea of a great Christmas, but I suspect it’s more fun than what goes on in a lot of average homes on Christmas day.

So, what do you do with this whole spirit of giving, this Christmas Day, pagan inspired holiday to celebrate the birth of a possibly imaginary person, whose name is used to justify everything from the kindest to the cruelest things in this world? What the fuck do you do? And this is Badass Auntie’s wisdom to the world for the upcoming Christmas Day.

If you want to do religion, do it. If you want to do decorations, turn your house into a gigantic disco ball. If you want to play the Heavy Metal Christmas Hits album at full blast, go the fuck for it! If you want to walk down the high street throwing money at crack whores for kisses, definitely video it. If you want to buy yourself a present and spend every bit of your Christmas money on it, do it and don’t feel guilty. If you want to buy 100 one dollar items at the Dollar Store so that your child has 100 presents to open, bloody brilliant.  If you want to bake cookies for the old people next door, stick some extra sugar on them just to remind them to take their insulin.

Because. You know what? Christmas Day is just like any other fucking day. It’s not the day you wait for all year so that you can be nice to someone you love, to a perfect stranger or to a fucking baby elephant. It’s not the day that you announce that you have been inspired by Jesus H Christ to donate to the legless veterans down the road. It’s a party day and it’s a day to do whatever the fuck you want because, unless you work for the emergency services or your boss is a total cunt, you should hopefully be having some free time to spend with the people you love and that, my gorgeous nephew, is what it’s all about. This might not make much sense to you for a very long time because, by the time you understand death, you’ll go through the stage in life when you feel invincible but I hope, I truly hope, that it won’t take a devastating loss of someone you love to make you realise that love is about all there is in this strange life we have and it can disappear in a ‘poof’ of dust.

So, on Christmas Day, if you’re going to be truly generous. Give and receive love. And stop being a tight arse the rest of the year. You don’t have to wait for your religion or some shitty ad on TV with Sarah McGlachalan singing to a montage of sad abused puppies to remind you to think about those who are less fortunate than you are. Just do me one favour.  Don’t fucking shout about it to everyone when you do it. It’s just not classy and if there’s one thing Badass Auntie likes more than anything else – it’s a bit of class.

Much love from your Badass Auntie

Dear CK,

Hahaha! It’s nearly Christmas. You’re a baby. You won’t fucking remember or appreciate any of it except maybe when your Mom drinks a little bit of wine and you get to enjoy it second-hand from her tit. So, guess what? I didn’t get you a present this year. Seriously, you have a 2 year old brother. Your house is full of baby shit already – and by ‘baby shit’ I don’t mean the shit in your nappy, which I know is bountiful, but shit like toys; shocking and obscene numbers of toys. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I suppose I could have been a real bitch and bought you a set of organic, hand washable nappies. Watching your Mom and Dad having to thank me for those would have made it all worthwhile.

There were so many things I could have gotten you that would have been brilliantly self indulgent.  20 Baby grows with ‘My Aunt is the Best!’ on the front of them. Or how about a lovely framed photo of me and your Tia (the one I’ll tell you about one day) to keep by your cot. Maybe I could have purchased a lifelong subscription to my favourite wine in your name. Now that’s an idea!

I’m thinking of getting you this for next year though. Best of all, it’s available through Amazon. They are so damned convenient and they sell everything. Even things that you never thought existed and probably shouldn’t.

baby pimp

 

The thing about giving presents is that, unless you are pathologically obsessive and sentimental or, unless you’ve spent silly money on it, you don’t really give a shit what happens to the gift after you’ve given it. The saying ‘it’s the thought that counts’ really is true. All you want the receiver to know is that you thought about them. So CK, always remember that regifting is a wonderful thing. Personally, I enjoy it even more when I regift back to the original giver. It allows for that unique but oddly pleasurable sensation that combines being horrified, embarrassed and finding something hilariously funny all at the same time – a bit like when you walk out of the ladies toilet at a public event with your skirt tucked up into your knickers.

So, this year all you’re getting is a thought from me, in the form of this blog. Fuck, every time I write you a letter it’s a gift. I hope you’re grateful one day. No, I don’t hope you’re grateful. I hope you’ll wipe my arse for me when I’m all alone, doubly incontinent and can’t remember who you are.  Now that’s real gratitude, but truly. That level of gratitude is a burden you’ll have to contend with later in life. For now, learning how to say ‘thank you’ will be a start. Even if you only get a regift of something you gave three years ago. Even if someone comes up to tell you that your skirt is stuck in your knickers because there is nothing like an ungrateful twunt to really ruin Christmas for everyone.

There truly is nothing that smacks of spoiled brat entitlement than people who do not say ‘thank you’ when people buy them gifts, no matter how crap the gifts are and, trust me, I’ve had some really crap gifts. Many of them are well meaning, but people can be really strange about how they become convinced that you love certain things.  All you have to do is mention once that you might like guinea pigs and then for years to come, all of your friends will approach you randomly with various guinea pig related gifts, feeling ever so proud of themselves for being so clever and thoughtful. Yep, there it is again, that ‘thought’ thing. And, you know what you’re going to do when you get crap useless gifts from well meaning friends? you are going to say ‘Thank you so very much for thinking of me.’  You know why? Because you’re my niece and I’ll be buggered with a unicorn horn if I’m going to let you grow up acting like an ungrateful prannet.

One day, you’ll understand that when friends and loved ones think of you, even when they express that through a cheap and unimaginative piece of tat, they fucking thought of you and that is fucking precious. So, my little one, your piece of wisdom from your Badass Auntie – be grateful when the gift you receive is a thought, because if no one is thinking about you, that’s a sure sign that you are pretty fucking boring.

Much love from your Badass Auntie

 

 

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