Donna Reed can go fuck herself. In the arse.

I've been trying to channel both Donna Reed and Nigella Lawson respectively to no avail. I've decided that without a production crew to starch my apron or to pull in my whalebone stays, I'm better off just being The Girl Formerly Known As Haversham.


So preparation for Christmas has seen me break all of the good house keeping rules. Mind you, like a lot of other people, I love the antiquated good house keeping guides of yore. The linky up above is a particularly good one.

I spent a lot of time doing weekend party planning to save enough money for the family Christmas presents. Which is itself is a feat of endurance. Then I managed to get all sorts of shitty at the Beast for spending said money. Shopping with me is never fun - I hate to part with a well earned dollar. I also hate to pay full retail. I'd rather shop around. Anyway, the shopping was horrific and then I decided that I would make presents as well...

Let me just say I am not a domestic goddess. After a weekend of entertaining, cleaning, entertaining and cleaning again, I am decidedly pissy. Then spending all day cooking and making dodgy gifts that quite closely resemble a third grader's art project (a severely artistically challenge third grader read that as: I am a spaz) I am feeling less than enthusiastic about Christmas.

Top off doing the washing and folding for two and I am one bitchy little hausfrau.

Let's just say that on days like this, the Beast earns his keep. The poor bastard.

Harrumph and good day, sirs!