remember with joy that, as a child, he expected Christmas? Making the tree, wait for gifts, spy in the kitchen while preparing the food of the great dinner and walk around the streets the center decorated with flashing lights, music and colors ... that poetry, memories ...
now ... What a nightmare: You wake up in the morning of 1 December and the first thought that gives you a good morning is as follows: "Fuck, in a little 'is Christmas!"
Leaving aside the consideration that the previous Christmas seems to spend no more than a month (and that takes you to countless tristerrime and ruminations on how to fly the years, and soon you'll find yourself surrounded by grandchildren to make sweaters and to combat osteoporosis), at the age of just over 30 years you realize that Christmas brings with it an infinite series of broken boxes, monsters, aberrations of real! Want some examples? Here is served:
put it in first place, since we have entered into full pre-Christmas weather, traffic and the amount of spasmodic stoned, streets in those days. Platoons idiot looking for ideas and gifts as they walk into a trance in the street and sidewalks, looking glued to the windows, loads of bags as the sherpas of Rinascente, Intimissimi, Coin. You poor unfortunate that you left because you forgot to buy milk, come in spite of yourself pressed against the window of Calzedonia, and the only way to get rid of the old croocchio aunts who press against you, enchanted by the complete candy pink with sequins that "would be perfect for Teresa," is to get involved in the consultation, noting: "if I buy that horror is not even my grandmother who sews sequins on pants!"
If you are driving does not improve the situation: driving, attempting to convince you that basically it is nice to the spirit of Christmas, and biofeedback to help this plant on the stereo you a selection of the most famous Christmas songs. And so, just as "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" spreads goodness in your little cabin, and have your eye becomes more joyful and persuades you that we are all better people, a cry and a foreign devil horns hurt your ear Christmas: "A fool! That car is mine!" "A stoned, trovatene another, I saw him first!" - Scoured, sleeping peacefully at the pedestrian who is waiting for a bus and stoned ... goes against blaspheming the next famous divine child ... because at Christmas we are all better people!
Beautiful are those who, for lack of time and desire, decide to make all the gifts in the same store and they forgot the tastes and peculiarities of the recipients. So you choose the theme of the moment: "This year I buy everything in the library" ... it does not matter if the great-aunt Amelia is illiterate, find someone willing to read the latest book by Emilio Fede, no?
Personally, I remain baffled by the prices of food Christmas: a cake business (presumably made of chili powders, spices, baking powder and instant ... Avogli Mr Maina to say "slowly ... good good. .. seeeeeee !!!!) is around € 5-6: Luckily, I am not with my ex, who used to discard all the raisins, depositing it lovingly on a napkin and then throw it ... aho, today would have been at least 2 € of stuff, tze!
And you can turn on the television these days? Advertising chain on the worst products for children (because you know, they are the target greedy at Christmas) in a day of rest from work I discovered that there are puppets who dance the twist, walk, speak ... but so far nothing new ... that I did not know is that now there is also the doll scureggia (and who says, "Mommy, I did prrrrr ".... that shit, just to stay in theme), then there crying and Ciccio Bello that will calm down only if you put near Winnie Pooh ... but what does it say? Mo 'well dolls misbehave? We arrived at the doll in the doll? Are you kidding ?????
The other day, the offers of a hypermarket, I caught "The foals Barbie !!!!": but that is, a sex toy??
short, is a delusion, a madhouse ... I must admit that as I was a smart little girl, my perceptions were far too large child on Christmas! From the top of my wisdom, the feeling I have is that of a collective abandonment to un'ebete madness of Christmas ... the real one there is nothing left, and perhaps the soft doll today do not even know what it celebrates: I'm not surprised go see a child today in front of a giant crib and ask his mother: "Mum, but that doll cries, burps or is that if you give them the Play Station ended all square Tomb Raider and then turns into a Pokemon?"
