There's one thing this time of year which is guaranteed to send me into a spiralling rage and leave me weeping copiously, holding scissors with a manic look in my enough to send my children fleeing upstairs in panic and my wife to have the NHS Mental Health helpline on speed-dial.
No, it isn't Noel and his Christmas presents. Nor is it the endless re-runs of Morecambe and Wise Christmas special. It isn't even the X-Factor single being number one. What I refer to is wrapping presents.
I hope I am not alone in this. I can gaze in wonder as Mrs R flips a prezzy around, cuts the perfect size of paper, cuts perfect lengths of sellotape, adds bows, ribbons and tags in such a blisteringly quickly manner that it seems almost churlish to open the presents on Xmas morning. She can have a pile of presents to wrap, do it in an hour and still be cheerful and chatty all the way through, even joining in with some of the old Christmas hits as she wraps so skilfully, Vanilla Ice would wince.
I on the other hand, descend into a dark madness. As I did this morning when I tried to wrap up my wife's skirt that she'd hinted to me she'd like in her own inimitable way. "I like that one. Get me that. For pity's sake DON'T choose something else." One red & grey knitted cardigan with robins wearing hats and the legend Merry Christmas spelt out on Holly leaves, and you are never forgiven are you?
Being dutiful and not wishing to have another Xmas under sexual sanctions due to "violating the Geneva convention due to purchasing clothes that are a crime against humanity", I had bought her the skirt and being practical, I asked her to try it on to ensure it fitted. She did so and it did. Hurrah! Stage one complete! She then passed me the skirt to put away and wrap up.
This is a foolish mistake. In the first instance, it assumes I know how to fold up a skirt. Oddly enough, I don't. I don't wear that many and when I do, the police usually take it off me in the cell. So this morning I took out the skirt from my wardrobe and set about folding it.
To compound matters further, it was one of those made from "crinkly" style material. This meant that the more I folded it, the less it looked like a skirt and more a bundle of rags. After ten minutes trying to figure out the best way I finally got it looking presentable. I then made my second error, trying to put it back into the bag it came in. Why do bag makers make bags smaller than the item itself? Is there a law that states "Bags provided for clothes shall be 9/10ths too small to fit the item in easily." Several aborted attempts later, after the skirt had done its best to roll itself into a tight bundle of mess, I managed to get it into the bag. It looked...erm... well there's no nice word for it so I'll say...shit. But by now already reaching a crescendo of expletives that would have Gordon Ramsey blushing, I plundered blindly on. Sealed the bag with the sticker provided and got out the wrapping paper.
Well actually, I didn't just get it out. For some reason my wife had decided to hide it. I have no idea why this is. For the vast majority of the year the wrapping paper we have sits either on top of the wardrobe or under the stairs. But no, not today. I searched high and low around the house and eventually located it at the back of her wardrobe. Do not ask me why. I do not presume to have the intellectual capabilities to fully grasp the need for wrapping paper to be hidden in the wardrobe a week before Christmas when people might actually want the bloody stuff, but that is because I am obviously male and have no grasp of such matters.
Half an hour after going to look for it, I finally cut a square of paper to wrap the skirt in. Only when I folded it up. It was about an inch too small to cover the parcel entirely. Informing the paper that it was less than useful for advising me to cut it there. I scrunched it up into a furious ball and launched it at the dog who was now eyeing me with a mixture of sympathy and disbelief.
The second sheet I cut easily fitted the skirt. Truth be told, I could have wrapped another skirt, the QE2 and Jupiter inside it as well. The first fold over went very well and I sellotaped it down with a grin. Easy!
The third error came when I attempted the second fold. For some reason the paper decided it didn't want to fold neatly and began to buckle and fold in strange ways. By now I just wanted it done, so pressed on and sellotaped the next bit down. It was a tad wonky, but no matter. I could press on. When I attempted the third fold, a corner ripped. This sent me into a further rage and so I taped the third fold down and sellotaped over the ripped corner. The fourth and final fold went by without further incident until I actually went to cut the sellotape.
Why is it when you use your teeth, the sellotape decides to split lengthways, and you end up with a piece about three lightyears long and half a centimetre wide? The sellotape went the way of the dog, who was now cowering in the corner with a crash hat on. I scrabbled at the sellotape to find the errant end, located it and pulled the split tape off. Cutting it with scissors so it was all neat. I then pulled of a length of tape, cut it with scissors hurrah! But wait! No!!! As the roll of tape fell onto the bed, the tape decided it would attach itself to itself.
"Oh deary me!" I said or something like that.
Anyway, At the third attempt I got the piece of tape and stuck the final side down. I then went back and folded up all the bits that looked crap and stuck them down too. Fevered and about to aneurysm, I picked up the present. It looked like a blind, dyspraxic Polar bear had been let loose in a Grotto.
Still it'll all be worth it. It'll be a nice surprise.
I'm off now to go and boil my head.
Sex God
:rotflmao::rotflmao::rotflmao:
