Eight hours a sleeping

It is the last Saturday before Christmas and social convention dictates that I – as a young(ish) unmarried woman – ought to be out and about somewhere, in a sparkly outfit and preferably with some mistletoe close at hand.  Part of me instinctively feels the same: it’s a Saturday, it’s almost Christmas, hence I should be going out somewhere.  Truth is, I’m having a quiet night in and I wouldn’t really want to be doing anything else.  I can please myself with what to do (clearly Roses are involved, as these are quickly emerging as a festive staple for me).  Having had a busy day today and another busy day tomorrow, I am actually extremely grateful that I don’t have to go out and instead of spending the night partying away, I will instead be getting eight hours a sleeping – just in time for some nights out next week.

On the eight day of Christmas my own way was to be eight hours a sleeping, seven snowy scenes, six plates a spinning, fives Ro-o-ses, four simple pleasures, three finished parcels, two children’s gifts and a morning of charity.

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