GRINCH

I am a Grinch. I hate Christmas dinner with stepdad. I hate his food which is piled so high with layers of veg that the dinner amounts to a chaotic mess, which you could climb once you have swum past the watery gravy. We eat the dinner in silence, which makes Christmas joyless and Sullen. The resentment hangs in the air like the ghost of Christmas past. The resentment of one forced to dine on toxic mounds which lack moderate servings, which lack appetising preparation. If he choked upon his soggy Yorkshire puddings I would feel the relief of a prisoner released from jail. I will go with out his dinner this year. His dinners are a daunting ordeal, which reflect his lack of class, style and finesse . To all you out there facing a miserable Christmas let me tell you Christmas for me has no gloss. It is a painful reminder that my family is dysfunctional. Narcissists spoil my cheer.

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