The Christmas Present from Hell..

November 23, 2015

The saying “killing two words with one stone” is a mothers best friend. It means combining two or more things to make your life easier. I’m queen of it. Examples of frequently used ones include but are not limited to:

Letting the kids have a 5pm swim = bath done.

Tying chux with spray n wipe on it onto a crawling babies knees = mopping the floors.

Throwing food onto the floor = feeding time and washing up combined.

It’s a great saying. Except when it’s related to me. Which is what happened here this week. Our washing machine gave up the ghost – it ceased working and we had to get a repairman out. It’s an 8kg front loader and it cops a fair workout every week. The lovely repairman replaced whatever was ruined while having a chat with me, during which he recommended I get an industrial one. His exact words were “you HAVE to have one.”

So I told my husband. Not I want one. I HAVE to have one according to a man who looks at them all day every day and was appalled by our washing pile.

“I’ll get you one for Christmas”

What the hell? A washing machine is not a Christmas present. I hate the washing machine more than my kids between 5-8pm which is a big call. A very very big call. He also knows being born on New Years Eve I despise combined presents. “Here is your Christmas and birthday gift because I have blown all my money and/or couldn’t be stuffed buying you separate ones.” Happens all the time and he knows I hate it.


A present is something you want. Not an underwear cleaning device. Not a machine you despise because as much as you hate it you can’t live without it.

The husband used to be good at buying me presents. I got flowers weekly when we were courting. Jewellery. He was the sort of man who would go into lingerie shops and approach complete strangers and say “what size are you my wife is your size?” And he used to nail the presents every time.

Every. Single. Time.

Then he got too comfortable. Flowers stopped. Present standards lowered. Until here we are – a washing machine.

The last time I wrote about him it took him exactly 15 seconds to text me with a response. So yes, I’m airing my dirty laundry on here not just for me, but for every female the world over.

A washing machine, or in fact any appliance that is essential to life is not a present. No washing machine, and God forbid an iron or anything of the like. No dinner sets. No cutlery, frying pans, rice cookers or tea towels. Especially tea towels.

We (I) want jewellery, perfume, books, massages, facials. A weekend away in Boracay alone. A business class trip to Timbuktu. A 2 day pass to go berserk and forget we have a family.

He will either read this and take heed or pay the price. Which will be a One Direction front row ticket.

His idea of torture.

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