Deck the halls with boughs of folly – it’s party time! The heady combination of alcohol, mistletoe, silly hats, flashing antlers, family reunions and Yuletide demob euphoria makes this my favourite time of year.
But now that everybody’s micro-dosing Mounjaro and insisting on signing mistletoe consent forms, has the Christmas fun factor dimmed?
There will be no festive regret if you follow these rules. Credit: Getty Images
With wars, famines, environmental catastrophes and MAGA mania, it’s been a grim and gruelling year. We’re all in urgent need of some festive frivolity, so let’s make a legal contract with each other to have as much joy as possible – a Santa clause, if you will. Starting with flirting.
It’s hard to think of any occasion at which I find flirting inappropriate – apart from mid-surgery, during childbirth, in a police line-up or at a friend’s funeral. Christmas is the one time of year when it’s OK to chat up random strangers and steer them ’neath the mistletoe. There’s only rule re puckering up for a pash: no cold sores. Herpes is the Christmas gift that just keeps on giving.
And speaking of gifts, always bring one. Unless you plan to arrive naked, wrapped in a bow, your presence is not an acceptable present. And fellas, take note – women do not consider bathroom scales or carnations bought at petrol stations to be gifts. Ditto cooking utensils; a reminder of domestic chores is a Yuletide turn off. Despite the sermons from Meghan Markle, Gwyneth Paltrow and other domestic goddesses, most females do not want to slave over home-made bread before wrapping the perfect loaf in an unbleached cloth bag and embroidering it with a homily about “infusing every moment with wonder”.
Of course, I am wondering why anybody would bother to cook now that nobody’s eating. Friends on weight-loss jabs are culinary killjoys; forget mince pies and devils on horseback, a glass of skimmed air and a sniff of a lettuce frond will now suffice.
If strip poker is suggested, be sure to keep a poker face when confronted with a neighbour’s or colleague’s saggy, baggy bits.
KATHY LETTE
And for those still actually eating, do not demand bougie titbits for your festive fare. A picky guest recently shunned my mackerel pâté and asked for line-caught anchovies instead. My Doritos were similarly met with a request for vegetable crisps sprinkled in Himalayan salt, no doubt crystallised from the sweat of Sherpas. What’s next? Rice cakes harvested by moonlight, one grain at a time, using golden tweezers? Devilled eggs sourced from chickens raised on ambient jazz? At these moments, a frazzled hostess has every right to utilise a string of tinsel as a garrotte.
But if guests aren’t grazing, how to entertain them? I’ve resorted to party games. A safe bet is spin the bottle … but only after drinking its contents for Dutch courage. If strip poker is suggested, be sure to keep a poker face when confronted with a neighbour’s or colleague’s saggy, baggy bits. Otherwise, when it’s your turn to disrobe, your goose will be well and truly cooked.
