Not Caring For Sharing

Christmas passed uneventfully enough, the highlight being a Christmas day lecture from Little Niece N (now a soap box adorning 4 year old, and therefore full of opinions) about sharing.  I had begun to open my presents and squealed with delight when I found that Mammy had bought me a box of my most favourite chocolates, rafaello.  I would describe them but then I would have to leave the house immediately to buy another box as the one in question here is quite empty.

I never share food.  I will make you some, I will buy you some, but don’t eat mine.

I was immediately pounced on by Lilsister and Little Niece N so I attempted to flee the scene.  The aforementioned lecture then took off in earnest with Little Niece N going hell for leather on a long rambling introduction to ‘sharing’ and all its charms.  I was unmoved, and counter attacked with the fact that there were many other good things to eat in the house and this was MINE and I never had anything nice to myself.

As if unified in their hatred of me, Lilsister, Little Star, Little Niece N, Papabear, Baby Bro and Littlebro all demanded a rafaello.

It was a time of utter desolation.

 

Christmas in Ireland

Back to work tomorrow, not in the mood.   Overheard two girls comparing notes about how wonderful customers are when advised of delays due to traffic/weather/drivers not working as – Holy Codfish! – they decided to take a Christmas break to, you know, celebrate Christmas and all that it entails.

Many versions of ‘stick it up your hole’

‘Fuck you’

‘Go and fuck yourself’

‘Fuck yourself and your drivers and stick it up your hole’.

The winner being

‘Go and die’.

A gentle time in the delivery business, here’s to treating people like shite when you’re standing bravely behind your telephone.