Internet, man, my mother is trolling me.

She got me a Christmas present.

She won’t tell me what it IS.

(She says it’s cheap and I need it, but if that’s true, why haven’t I bought it? What do I need? A new laptop, but that’s not cheap. One of those wand things for dipping in honey? Oh—a new dressing-gown. That has to be it. I dropped mine in the loo, and I whined on for ages…. I’ll be bummed if I’m wrong. I’m all jazzed up now.)

This feels like trolling, subtle trolling. Sophisticated trolling. Could it be she reads my blog? I was just going on about the evils of surprises, and she’s got me a present? We’re not even Christian. She’s pulling my chain.

(Am I supposed to get my housekeeper a gift, or would cash be okay?)

Holidays are the worst.

UPDATE:

G.D. it, Mother!

PS – When you read these departmental memos, please imagine your boss hovering over your desk, kvetching in your ear. You’re sitting there like “seriously?”, trying to focus on work, but the blather is endless. It’s awkward as hell. What do you even say?