Walking in a Onesie Wonderland

It’s the 15th of January and my hangover shakes have only just subsided enough for me to type. I am usually pretty happy at this time of year because Christmas is over and I can get back to being an unsociable Skyrim-raping bastard, however this year I am actually on a bit of a downer. The reason for this uncharacteristic post-festive depression is because I actually had a lot of fun this year. It’s true! I have discovered that it is entirely possible to have a relaxing and enjoyable Christmas – and all you have to do is follow this one simple step:
 
-Wake up on Christmas morning and say to yourself: “Today I am going to do whatever the fuck I want”.
 
It really works, I tried it this year and this is what happened:

I woke up on Christmas morning in my mum’s house in Cyprus. I handed Billy, Lisa, Dan and my mum a onesie each, which I had previously purchased from Primark (for those of you who don’t know what a onesie is – it is basically a baby-grow for adults, complete with attached feet). Lisa was a penguin, my mum was a zebra, I was a cow, Dan was a gangster-baby and Billy was a kind of paedophile-snowflake.

Once onesied-up, we headed downstairs and sat by the Christmas tree in front of the log fire (turns out it can be a bit chilly in Cyprus in December) where we proceeded to open all of our presents. As you can see from the photos, our gifts and cards reflected the deep and profound emotions we feel towards each other:

When all the presents were opened we headed into the kitchen where we cooked dinner together (still in our onesies). Our dinner was accompanied with Grey Goose vodka and freshly-squeezed orange juice which had come from the oranges we stole from a farm the day before (we literally parked the car at the side of the road and ran into a random orange-grove armed with an empty shopping bag each. Most of us at least tried to steal oranges that had fallen on the ground as they would have gone to waste anyway. Not Lisa. She managed to find a basket of oranges that someone had actually worked hard to harvest and emptied it into her bag. I think the orange-picker guy had only gone for a cigarette).

Anyway, back to dinner. We put our Christmas hats on and ate FAR too much, laughed a lot, farted even more and put away enough Buck’s Fizz to ensure that none of our organs are considered donatable. After we couldn’t take anymore, the inevitable sleepiness started to creep in. Usually this is the point where I am so bloated that the dress I reluctantly squeezed myself into earlier that day now makes me look like a plastic-bag overly stuffed with awkward-shaped meat. I then have to talk to people that I haven’t seen since the previous Christmas without spewing into their eyes every time I take a sip of the circa-1965 booze that someone kindly donated from the back of their dead grandma’s cupboard.

Not this year. This year I was doing whatever the fuck I wanted – and I wanted to curl up in a ball and let literally everything hang out until this wave of over-indulgence had subsided. As if reading my mind, my mum then told us to go and look behind the sofa. We did as she asked and there, pressed up against the wall, were two airbeds. Two fucking airbeds! There were angel noises playing in my head. We immediately pumped them up, brought our duvets down from upstairs and arranged ourselves around the TV in a kind of disgusting human-amphitheatre, sheltering from the meat-sweats in our beautiful new Christmassy refugee camp. We passed the rest of the evening watching Team America and the odd episode of Eastbound & Down. It really was a ridiculously spectacular day.

Now, some people may think that this is inappropriate (and slightly repulsive) behaviour for Christmas, but 100% of the people I have talked to about my day have said the exact same thing:

“That sounds amazing, I wish my Christmas was like that.”

What I don’t understand is, if everyone wishes their Christmas was like that, then why isn’t it? Clearly we would all rather eat shit-loads of carbs and spend an entire day on an airbed in our pyjamas than do the formal family gathering so favoured by the average human, so why do we put ourselves through it? When I have kids and everyone starts coming round to mine, immediately upon stepping through the door they will be handed a onesie, an airbed pump and a glass of Buck’s Fizz – and this will set the tone for the rest of the day.

Since making the decision to do whatever the fuck I want on Christmas day, not only does it suddenly seem tolerable, I am actually actively looking forward to it. In fact, if all goes to plan, this Christmas might even overtake the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee as my favourite holiday of the year.  If this sounds like your kind of day too, then I suggest you sit your family down and tell them that this Christmas you are doing whatever the fuck you want, and you will be doing it all day long.  If they don’t like it, then I’ll see you round ours!

 Bring cake.