Wednesday 23 December 2015

Torture by Chocolate

It all started off innocently enough.  I was upstairs GHD’ing my hair and Oldest Boy followed me.  He sat on the floor and proceeded to go through the Christmas Stash Box.  Every house should have one.  It contains boxes of chocolates, tins of sweets, bottles of wine, candy canes, crisps and in general Christmassy goodness. 

We discussed which box of chocolates would go best with the hot chocolates (hocklates) on Christmas Eve and it was decided Milk Tray would be the one.

“What would you like for Christmas, Mammy?”  he asked as I fiddled with that tricky bit of hair behind my ear.  The piece that, if I’m not careful, could see me clamp my earlobe in between the heating iron.  It has been done.

“I’d love an item of jewellery.”  I told him.  Confident in the knowledge there is a little pair of gold studs wrapped and waiting for me to open in two day’s time.  “I’d also love some makeup.” 

Bronzing pearls if you’re asking.  And some primer. 

“And maybe some make-up brushes.”  Thanks Real Techniques.  “A book is also an excellent thing to receive.”  I continued, thinking of the new Anna McPartlin on my bedside, tormenting me, but I refuse to touch it until Christmas Day.  “Chocolates.  Wine. Anything really.”

“I think you’re really going to like what we got you.”  His smile was a hundred watts.

“You got me something?”  So was mine.  “Oh, lovely.  Now begins the nagging until I make you tell me what it is.”

“Stop, Mammy.”  There was a tinge of panic.

“Hmm.  Let me see.  Can I eat it?”

“Stop guessing!”  It was a shriek.

“Ok, so that’s a no.  I can’t eat it.”

Nervous laughter and a burst to leave the room.

“I can do chocolate torture, you know.”  I shouted after him.  “it’s where I make you sit in a chair and I take that box of Milk Tray, open it and force you to watch as I eat them.  I’ll be like, “tell me, Conor.  Tell me or I swear to God I’ll eat this chocolate.  I will, so help me.”

“There’s loads more.  And anyway you’ll only make yourself sick.”  He was halfway down the stairs, terrified he’d give the game away on himself.

I let him go.   Not fair to put extra pressure on someone who is already fizzing at the gills for Christmas Day.

A quick rub of some John Frieda Frizz Ease. 

Hair was grand. 

Thanks for asking.

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