So it's happened. I've started my Christmas shopping. Admittedly I haven't bought much and I fear that if I don't wrap the presents soon I'll keep them for myself. But, in my mind, Christmas has officially started. No need to wait for the Oxford Street lights (being switched on by The Saturdays because, apparently, no one famous/with talent could be bothered to turn up) or to buy wrapping paper. I have twelve carefully selected (read: first things I saw) presents just waiting to be beautifully wrapped and then savagely unwrapped by my family.
I'm close to driving The Boyfriend insane. I've already explicitly explained the Elf Story to which I was greeted with looks of pity. The Elf Story is as such. If a person finds out what present they have before the Big Day, one of Santa's Elves will die. Not just a silly little elf-died-in-his-sleep death. Nope. The elf will BLOW UP. The complete lack of Christmas Spirit (TM) causes the poor little elf to literally explode. Now, keep in mind that my mum told me this story when I was three. THREE YEARS OLD. The Boyfriend is now fully informed of the Elf Story so hopefully will not contemplate sneaking around to find his presents.
Now, luckily for the elves, I have plenty of Christmas Spirit (TM) to go around. I'm doing my bit to save as many elves as I possibly can. That includes buying and wrapping presents, singing Christmas songs and continuing my Tinselitis countdown. You know you should join in now. For the elves.