A few Christmases ago I had a bit of a meltdown over a gift from my parents. To anyone on the outside I guess I would have been comparable to a spoilt toddler having a tantrum because she didn't get the toy she wanted. My mum didn't take it personally though.
To set the scene for you, I'd just made Christmas dinner for the whole family for the second time not having learnt my lesson the first time round that the stress of cooking a 3 course meal for 8 people, and the burns and mess were simply something I shouldn't volunteer to put myself through again. But hey if you listen to anyone round here I'm stubborn.
My mum handed me the gift - I hate gifts. Or at least, I hate things I haven't specifically asked for. So I open this gift, it's a pair of socks. They're soft, cosy, fluffy. I love soft, cosy, fluffy socks. But Oh My God. I put them on. Aggrh the discomfort. The seams. The unusually long length. They feel just soo wrong. I try to keep them on and show thanks but the stress and discomfort is unbearable. I'm walking around in these socks, crying and laughing at the same time. It's ridiculous that socks can make me cry.
Luckily my mum was laughing with me. She knows what I'm like. She still tries to buy me surprises occasionally, knowing full well I'll probably freak out. I know she means well but Oh My God I hate surprises.
Claire x
