The Jig is Up.

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I always get a bit confused by that work Jig. I have to Google it each time to make sure it is not spelt GIG. But is is JIG.

‘Jig’ is a very old term for a lively dance, and in Elizabethan times the word also became slang for a practical joke or a trick. ‘The jig is up’ – meaning your trick or game is finished, has been exposed, we’re onto you now – derives from this obsolete slang word. From “Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins” by Robert Hendrickson (Facts on File, New York, 1997)

Any-who, no matter how you spell it or pronounce it, IT IS UP HERE AT WOOGSWORLD.

“Mum, there is no Santa.” Jack said. It was not a question, or dramatic in anyway, just a simple statement said while eating his dinner. I looked at Harry, he looked at the wall and I started to insist….

“If you don’t believe, you don’t receive…”

“There is no Santa and there is no Tooth Fairy because I wait up and watch you take the tooth and put the money there.”

It made me think about the nerd gun, the Skylanders and the Crayola thingy that he lusted after, all wrapped up in a doona cover and shoved in the corner of the garage.

For the first time this year, we didn’t do a Santa Photo. It was because I forgot about it and they didn’t ask and now there is no way that I am wanting to come within a whisker from a bee’s dick of a Westfield Shopping Centre. It is probably something I might regret in the future.

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We only just put our tree up this weekend, and when I say put it up, I might be overselling the underwhelming attitude that came about completing that task.

Mr Woog is completely over everything and is no good at helping me try and spread some festive cheer. He says he wants to go to bed for a year. I am fucked off because I have been left holding the reindeer reins and feel that it my sole job to make a MAGICAL MOTHERFUCKING CHRISTMAS when all I really want to do is to lie very still on the couch watching  Nancy Meyer films.

They may not be any Santa, but the season is roaring at me like a unfettered hurricane of tasks, lists, gift, cards, ham, foul mince pies that should be illegal, inappropriate quips made after too many savvy b’s, sand, rubbish and low expectations.

Is it just me?

Is it too late to find my Christmas Spirit?

Will Micheal Buble’s Christmas Album really save the day?