Sister got a Onesie

She resisted for the longest time.
She scorned.
She condescended "WHY would anyone want something like THAT?"


Then, ............. she got one.

And now, she is a Onesie-Junkie.




On the upside, seems She ain't alone.

Turns out loads of us got Onesies this Christmas - so Facebook informs me.

So?  What is it like Inside the Onesie?

It is like ..... getting an all-over, full body hug.  Is it a returning to the womb thing?  I dunno.  Don't care.


There are no words.  Truly, it rocks.

Which is ironic as it is, to the core, the single most UN-rock & roll thing. Ever.

Again, who cares.

So soft. So cozy. Nothing squeezes anything.  You don't need to suck anything in. There are no spaces for drafts to get in. And, no spaces for the warmth to get out.

To power up the Goo-Goo-Ga-Ga effect, go Hood.

TOP TIP:
avoid opening the door to unsuspecting visitors.  Wiping the WTF!?! of their face, is a Herculean task.  Be kind, don't make them work that hard.  It's Christmas.

How do I know I've got it bad for the Onesie?

Well, because, daily, I look at my watch and wonder "Is it too early to go Onesie?".

The answer, sadly, is usually 'yes'.

Because, sadly, it is usually around 3:30pm.

I have established that 3:30pm is too early to Onesie.

Once you have Gone Onesie, it is like you are calling time on the day.  It is like a fuzzy, snuggly full stop on your day.

'This is me, out', it says to the World.

Who loves Onesies?

Know who loves Onesies? EVERYONE. Everyone who has experienced a Onesie. If you are a girl (big or little).
Boys (big or little) do not love a Onesie.
How do I know?



Husbands look sad when the Onesies turn up.  Husbands and Onesies will never be friends.

Onesie Admin

As a new Onesie Wearer, I have some questions & observations.  I have discussed these matters with others but, it is always worth canvassing for more opinions.

*  Does One sleep in One's Onesie?

*  Unzipping One's Onesie to 'spend a penny' (as my Nanny used to refer to it) is deeply traumatising, yes?  All cold on the top half, right?
Which brings me to the question, what does One wear (if anything) under One's Onesie? Which brings me back, full circle, to the trauma of a chilly pee.

*  One needs to be careful when performing the above-mentioned penny-spending to ensure all sleeves, dangly pompoms etc are accounted for ............. so as to ensure no inadvertent & accidental dipping of any of those things into the .......................... I give up ................ lavatory.

In short, DON'T PEE ON YOUR POMPOMS!!!!

And finally

*  Am I going to know when it is time to let the Onesie go?
I am at odd with the Non-Onesie-Friendly Climate here in Dubai.
I am now a font of information on the region's meteorological activity.
I watch for signs that might drive the Onesie away.

Stay, Onesie, stay.  Don't leave me.

Goodbyes suck. All of them

(an extract from a post back in October)

I've just done a Goodbye.
I didn't love it.

Goodbyes.

That is what I want to talk about.

Good byes are the hidden Expat Tax. And it weighs heavy on us all.

There are the most commonly thought of Goodbyes -
* the agonisingly sad driving away from home, airport-bound.

* the stomach-churning Let's All Be Brave & Practical Until the Very Last Second and Pretend This Isn't Really Happening.

OR the hideous farewells actually AT the airport.  The Stomach-Churn will follow you here.  You cannot escape the Stomach Churn.

Both scenarios.  Horrific.  The guilt.  The good ol' fashioned waaaaaa-hahhaahahaaaaaaaaa sadness.  The suppression of the I Wanna Drop Everything and Run All The Way Home reflex.


There is another kind of Expat Goodbye too.  Which also hurts.  And doesn't require you to go anywhere.

The one where people leave YOU.

No no no.  WE leave!  WE do the leaving! Goddammit. ..................................WE do NOT get left!

This Goodbye happens when other Expats leave, to either stop being Expats or, to go be Expats somewhere else.

Making strong connections with other people can be really hard anyway, but, when you are an Expat can be really extra-hard.
Our world is very transient.

When you live away from family & friends, people that have known you through the bad haircuts, teenage dramas or relationship euphoria and hiccups, when you DO make what feels like a real connection, it can be quite intense.

I've touched on this Friend thing before - in The Rugby Post & also, in The Happiness Vampires

Friends, the good 'uns, become an immediate practical source of support when you do not have your family immediately at hand.

Sometimes that support comes in the very simple form of just a Proper Belly Laugh.

Maybe handing you a cold one, that makes you contemplate a certain algebraic equation.  Remember what we were talking about earlier?

Or letting you roll in their Money-Pit.

Goodbyes suck. All of them.
Whether you are the Leaver or the Leave-ee.

A Christmas Miracle - Day 16

Here we are, Sweeties, on the final approach.

Not much longer now.

Christmas Day, minus 8 days.

Current status:
mad panic!!

Why?

Well, in a few days time, we are throwing a party for 50+ people at home :)

Looking forward to it massively, though One feels tremendous responsibility when undertaking the Fostering of the Festive Feeling, for Folk Far from Home.

We all have to work a little extra hard at getting all Joy To The World & Frosty The Snowman.

Stands to reason when, daily, we must battle decidedly unMerry elements - blue skies, temperatures in the 20's (Celcius) and all this goddamn sunshine.

However, by hook or by crook, I am getting my Noel on and I'm taking every man jack of you down with me.

Also, we have, like, 3 glasses.  The Maths are against Us.

******************************************************************

I do.  I, seriously, LOVE Christmas.
There's so much to love.

But today, I only want to talk about ..........

The Tree

Doesn't everyone
have a Christmas
Sea Monkey?

The Tree is plastic.  There. I said it.

Built and decorated complete with Family Tension.

The Tension is de rigeur & as much part of Christmas as eating mincepies in the morning throughout December & running out of sticky tape on Christmas Eve with a mountain of presents STILL to wrap.

Also, there is only tension because He, The Big Boy of The House, does it all wrong.
He is a Christmas luddite.
Who, WHO, puts the tinsel on first?
FIRST???!!!

I mean I ask you.

Christmas friggin' Caveman.

Finally, we agreed.
translation: I did it

In any event, I love plastic and, spare me the gushings about the smell, blah blah blah.

As a kid, the tree was always plastic, so Arôme Arbre de Noel Plastique is a very exciting, happy one for me.

Further, no pathetic tree corpse will be lying outside our house in early January.  Discarded.

We don't need you now, get out.
No one wants your smell in January.
In January, Tree, you stink.

How do you people live with yourselves?!

Come the Resurrection of Christmas Trees Past, I tell you, I am in the clear.

*
*
*
*
*
*

Also, there's something else.
If we have a real one, the dogs would wee on it.

So you see? The Christmas miracle has come early.  Day 16 and Tree has NOT been soiled.  Yet.

This, Friends, is a PB for Ollie (The Stripy One).

Our very own Christmas Miracle.