Today is Christmas Eve. Everybody in the house [including the little mouse -with ”Jerry” on his nametag [I know, right?!??!]- who lives in that creepy hole by the kitchen] has gone into a gift wrapping frenzy. Barbies, DVDs, novels, designer jeans, Mars bars… The variety is mind-boggling.
I hope the family doesn’t expect ME to give the anything in return, because I can’t. My liquid assets have dried up and, unlike my human-sibling, I can’t rely on an overly generous Grandma to slip my a few quid. So, instead of buying them extravagant sweaters that they’re never going to use, I will write them a letter, stating that from now on, I won’t:
1] Cling onto the female guests legs as soon as they enter, thus causing tem to topple over and give me sufficient time to check out their underwear color.
2] Tread onto the expensive Persian rug as soon as it comes back from the has dry-cleaners
3] Burp and fart right when they are having their meals [seeing Taylor and Kathryn scrunch up their noses at the odour and scream ‘Gross!!’ is so darn comical!!]
4] Pee on dad’s proud collection on spades and rakes and all that kind of stuff
5] Bite Kathryn’s mini-skirts to shreds
The list goes on, but, looks like this is where I’ll have to stop, considering how I have to sue the loo REAL bad. Maybe I’ll pee on dad’s new mower one last time. Old habits die hard, they sure do.