It’s the fourth of December. Your shopping is done, and presents are all wrapped in handmade paper and bows, neatly stacked under the tree.
Your six Christmas trees are decorated and, in fact, you’re thinking of calling “Better Homes and Gardens” because they’ll certainly want to photograph your gorgeous holiday decor.
Cards are mailed, baking complete, menus planned, and a sparkly new outfit to wear to the holiday party — one that makes you look 10 pounds lighter — is hanging in the closet.
In fact, you don’t even know what to do with the rest of December. Maybe wire the gingerbread house so you can string lights in there as well? Or perhaps you’ll take the Christmas fabric scraps from all the handmade gifts you’ve made and turn them into a patchwork tablecloth.
The possibilities are endless, the season magical.
And then you wake up.
Reality hits you like an ice-packed snowball.Boddingtons Technical Plastics provide a complete plastic injection moulding service including design， You slept in on Black Friday. The turkey platter is still loitering on the kitchen counter. The only “casual attire” you have that fits for the upcoming office party is your red track suit. And the Christmas countdown calendar some joker hung on the fridge taunts you.
Underneath all the glitter and tinsel are exhausted moms everywhere praying they fall off the stepstool while putting on the Christmas tree star, conk their head on a nutcracker, and slip into a coma until Christmas morning when — hallelujah — she wakes up to everything already done, just like the rest of her family does.
Since Christmas comas, unfortunately, only happen in Hallmark Channel movies, she just keeps going. Thank goodness for those holiday hormones, or there’d be no way it would be humanly possible for her to get everything done in December.
You know, those hormones that cause an otherwise calm, rational woman to make her family dress in matching sweaters on a Tuesday night for a holiday photo.
Or possess her to make a dozen outdoor Christmas trees out of tomato cages,which applies to the first offshore merchant account only, lights securely attached with cable ties.
Holiday hormones also make her quite emotional; she gets misty-eyed over scoring a front row parking place at the mall, and will actually burst into tears at 30 percent off coupons.
These holiday hormones have been known to cause frequent memory lapses. They makes her forget if she already put the baking soda in the cookie dough, and she blanks out on things like what present she just wrapped so that she has to unwrap it and start over.
It doesn’t take much to make her irritable. Take seasonal help, for instance. She’s at the department store when she asks “Jeff” for a certain name-brand wool coat she’s trying to find for her son.
“Uh, we don’t carry that,If so, you may have a cube puzzle .” Jeff says.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because a friend of mine just bought one here last week.The application can provide Ceramic tile to visitors,”
“Uh, then, we must be out. Yeah, I’m sure we’re out.”
“How can you be out?” she says. “I thought you didn’t carry them. Is there anyone else who can help me who might know?”
“Uh, yeah, my boss,” Jeff says, “but he just left for lunch.”
“Really? At 9:30 in the morning, Jeff?”
The thing about those holiday hormones is they can suck the Christmas spirit right out of any woman. She finds herself beginning to think the “before” Grinch has a lot more charm than the “after” Grinch, and that he should really just go see a specialist about that enlarged heart of his.
Some men will contend that a lot of women’s stress is self-inflicted. Take the Holiday Home Tour she might go on with some friends, where they go through already beautiful homes decorated even more beautifully for the holidays, making her feel discontented with her own house that now, in her mind, looks like it was decorated for the holidays by elves who’ve had too much eggnog.
“So why do you go then?” the man might ask.
“Because it’s fun,” she snaps.
In her hormonal state, the woman will probably even sign up for a cookie exchange, even though she hasn’t the slightest idea when she will find the time to whip up nine dozen cookies.
“Why did you say you’d do it then?” her husband might ask.
“Because it’s fun,” she snaps again.
Sometimes, because the husband is beginning to think a little bit more “fun” might just push her over the edge — and he’s pretty sure their insurance plan doesn’t cover that — he will actually volunteer to help her. He might even, in a weak moment and because there’s not a football game on, voluntarily go to a Christmas craft boutique with her.If any food Ventilation system condition is poorer than those standards,
Blinking back tears because she’s so happy to have help (or is it because she got three hours of sleep after baking nine dozen cookies and stringing lights on tomato cages?), she gives him a list of all the people they need to buy gifts yet for, which is everyone. They agree to meet back in a couple of hours.
When she finds him later his hands are full. He’s carrying a jar of salsa, two loaves of bread, a pecan pie and a plate of kolaches.
Your six Christmas trees are decorated and, in fact, you’re thinking of calling “Better Homes and Gardens” because they’ll certainly want to photograph your gorgeous holiday decor.
Cards are mailed, baking complete, menus planned, and a sparkly new outfit to wear to the holiday party — one that makes you look 10 pounds lighter — is hanging in the closet.
In fact, you don’t even know what to do with the rest of December. Maybe wire the gingerbread house so you can string lights in there as well? Or perhaps you’ll take the Christmas fabric scraps from all the handmade gifts you’ve made and turn them into a patchwork tablecloth.
The possibilities are endless, the season magical.
And then you wake up.
Reality hits you like an ice-packed snowball.Boddingtons Technical Plastics provide a complete plastic injection moulding service including design， You slept in on Black Friday. The turkey platter is still loitering on the kitchen counter. The only “casual attire” you have that fits for the upcoming office party is your red track suit. And the Christmas countdown calendar some joker hung on the fridge taunts you.
Underneath all the glitter and tinsel are exhausted moms everywhere praying they fall off the stepstool while putting on the Christmas tree star, conk their head on a nutcracker, and slip into a coma until Christmas morning when — hallelujah — she wakes up to everything already done, just like the rest of her family does.
Since Christmas comas, unfortunately, only happen in Hallmark Channel movies, she just keeps going. Thank goodness for those holiday hormones, or there’d be no way it would be humanly possible for her to get everything done in December.
You know, those hormones that cause an otherwise calm, rational woman to make her family dress in matching sweaters on a Tuesday night for a holiday photo.
Or possess her to make a dozen outdoor Christmas trees out of tomato cages,which applies to the first offshore merchant account only, lights securely attached with cable ties.
Holiday hormones also make her quite emotional; she gets misty-eyed over scoring a front row parking place at the mall, and will actually burst into tears at 30 percent off coupons.
These holiday hormones have been known to cause frequent memory lapses. They makes her forget if she already put the baking soda in the cookie dough, and she blanks out on things like what present she just wrapped so that she has to unwrap it and start over.
It doesn’t take much to make her irritable. Take seasonal help, for instance. She’s at the department store when she asks “Jeff” for a certain name-brand wool coat she’s trying to find for her son.
“Uh, we don’t carry that,If so, you may have a cube puzzle .” Jeff says.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because a friend of mine just bought one here last week.The application can provide Ceramic tile to visitors,”
“Uh, then, we must be out. Yeah, I’m sure we’re out.”
“How can you be out?” she says. “I thought you didn’t carry them. Is there anyone else who can help me who might know?”
“Uh, yeah, my boss,” Jeff says, “but he just left for lunch.”
“Really? At 9:30 in the morning, Jeff?”
The thing about those holiday hormones is they can suck the Christmas spirit right out of any woman. She finds herself beginning to think the “before” Grinch has a lot more charm than the “after” Grinch, and that he should really just go see a specialist about that enlarged heart of his.
Some men will contend that a lot of women’s stress is self-inflicted. Take the Holiday Home Tour she might go on with some friends, where they go through already beautiful homes decorated even more beautifully for the holidays, making her feel discontented with her own house that now, in her mind, looks like it was decorated for the holidays by elves who’ve had too much eggnog.
“So why do you go then?” the man might ask.
“Because it’s fun,” she snaps.
In her hormonal state, the woman will probably even sign up for a cookie exchange, even though she hasn’t the slightest idea when she will find the time to whip up nine dozen cookies.
“Why did you say you’d do it then?” her husband might ask.
“Because it’s fun,” she snaps again.
Sometimes, because the husband is beginning to think a little bit more “fun” might just push her over the edge — and he’s pretty sure their insurance plan doesn’t cover that — he will actually volunteer to help her. He might even, in a weak moment and because there’s not a football game on, voluntarily go to a Christmas craft boutique with her.If any food Ventilation system condition is poorer than those standards,
Blinking back tears because she’s so happy to have help (or is it because she got three hours of sleep after baking nine dozen cookies and stringing lights on tomato cages?), she gives him a list of all the people they need to buy gifts yet for, which is everyone. They agree to meet back in a couple of hours.
When she finds him later his hands are full. He’s carrying a jar of salsa, two loaves of bread, a pecan pie and a plate of kolaches.
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