Open Sesame Parcels

Most people look forward to Xmas for the usual reasons. The music, the seasonal cheer and the inevitable family gathering where someone gets too drunk and ends up having to be led outside by Aunty Judith so they can vomit up their festive turkey into a hedge. And kids especially look forward to the presents, tearing them open like loose pitbulls attacking an unattended pram, watched over by bleary eyed parents who’ve just wiped out their bank account buying the latest fancy toy from the car boot of some dodger in an Asda parking lot for 600% percent the normal retail price.
My wife is a little bit different though. Yes, she loves all these things and spends most of December, (and at least half of November) in a hyper-vibrationary state, pinning open her eyelids with industrial strength duct tape so she can absorb as much of the xmas cheer as her body can handle. But there’s one thing above all others that she starts to get excited about around June or July, (about two weeks before the supermarkets in our area start displaying the festive selection boxes) and that’s how she’ll soon they’ll be selling the festive party food packs, and she can once again exist solely on Chicken Sesame Parcels.

These once a year party packs of cheap chicken portions are coated in a sesame sauce and wrapped in a triangular parcel of pastry, designed to be heaved into an oven a half hour before your barely tolerated family arrive and then placed onto designer plates to be subsequently ignored for the rest of the evening. This is not what happens with The Roobs though. The second that the supermarkets advertise these for sale, she’s up out of bed and sprinting to the shops in her pyjamas. She’ll then stand headbutting the glass door furiously until the manager fearfully decides to risk opening up shop, leaving her to run inside and strip the shelves of every chicken based, festively wrapped pastry they have.
The next full month will be spent prone on the sofa, alternating between complaining that she has had too much chicken and now hates it, to moaning about not having enough chicken and how she now hates everything in the fucking world.
Her delight at seeing these parcels even in print leads me to what happened today when we went to the local supermarket to do the ‘Big Shop’. We’d just climbed out of the car and pulled the normal 1400 reusable shopping bags out of the boot ready to use, all the time The Destroyer is shooting me a confused look as to why mummy won’t shut up about chicken parcels and pigs in blankets. The only Pig in a blanket he understands is that red dress wearing bastard on Channel 5, and why nobody’s had a proper go at her for fucking about in muddy puddles then dragging all that caked on shite through Mummy Pig’s newly hoovered shag pile rug is beyond me..
So we walk on toward the entrance, when suddenly The Roobs stops dead, and an ungodly death shriek pierce the air around us. It was so terrifying that, (and I swear this is no joke or exaggeration) a woman fifteen paces ahead of us leapt up in the air, and because of the death-grip she had on the handle of her trolley, nearly flipped forward into the bastard before she realised that her life wasn’t in mortal danger.
Once my heart stopped trying to explode out of my anus, I spun round to see what the hell was going on, only to see my wife staring with loving eyes at the large advertising sign outside the front of the store. Through the fear induced hyperventilation ravaging its way through The Destroyer and myself, we saw that the supermarket was offering a ‘Two for One’ deal on all party foods, which included the much prized Chicken Sesame Parcels and the Pigs in Blankets.
Three days later and we’ve finally calmed down. Except my wife has had little option but to calm down, since her blood salt levels are through the fucking roof, and the endless consumption of sesame seasoning seems to be causing a certain degree of hallucination. Earlier I tried to sneak one off her plate when she wasn’t looking, but her spider-sense kicked in and she was on me like a howler monkey, trying to dig out one of my eyes with a fork because I was a ‘Dirty Hobbitses’ trying to steal her Precious..

If you like this blog, please follow and share!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Enjoy this blog? Please spread the word :)