Christmas Jumper and a Nero's Mince Pie
It's that time isn't it, and this year I have succumbed. Not from choice, dear reader. No, because my colleagues decided that for our departmental lunch we had to, absolutely had to, wear Christmas jumpers, that Great new British phenomena that has taken us by 'explosive cyclogenisis'. Yikes! What's a discerning tvshopaholic to do? Decline the lunch or wear a jumper ringing out Ding Dong Merrily every time someone squeezed passed me? A dilemma dear reader.
I enjoy socialising too much to totally discard option two. Yet didn't we cringe when we saw them in Bridget Jones, dear reader. We were meant to! They were cringeworthy. Now, to the absolute horror of myself, a dedicated connoisseur of clothes, I found myself having to own one.
For something that I may only wear once I went to a surprising amount of trouble. I toured the high street for just the right texture, colour and design. After marching in and out of the high street stores I declared it useless and vowed to google 'Christmas jumper' 'glamorous' as soon as I got home and order online. However with time pressing I reflected and on Sunday as the supermarket was about to close and therefore be quiet I snuck down and lurked amongst the rails of jumpers. Not only did I find the one, the jumper, discrete, with penguins, I also found a friend, equally shiftily rummaging along the knit wear, guiltily purchasing for her office lunch.
So dear reader, having procured my jumper along with a packet of tomatoes and bunch of celery, that I was pretending to Mr Him I had gone out for, you can imagine my disappointment at not wearing it let alone attending the lunch.
Thursday night I was taken ill and found myself on Friday not consuming turkey and trimmings as pre-ordered but paracetamol by drip in hospital, and not a Christmas jumper in sight. It appears that the very thought of a I, a TVshopaholic, wearing such an abomination as a Christmas jumper (discrete with penguins) in public brought about a stress migraine in the vicinity of where I would wear such an eyesore, the tummy. The stress of the lovely sticky hospital bracelet is another migraine to happen let alone the complete body migraine from the hospital gown.
As for the lunch, my colleagues kindly texted me to say they were raising a toast to me, poor consolation for missing lunch. I did manage a mince pie (from Nero) on the sofa late afternoon watching my favourite channel doing what I do best, TV shopping. That app got tapped.
Lunch would have been so much cheaper, jumper included.
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