Paul stood studying a large glass case of exotic and expensive perfume. While normally he could tolerate the whole present buying thing, there was something about the obsessive Christmas crowds, oppressive Australian heat and Gina's wrath that made the whole experience more painful than having his spleen pulverised by an ape.
          His eyes scanned the cornucopia of coloured bottles with absurd names like ‘Destiny’ and 'Opulence’ trying to find something that might be appropriate for his loving, yet seriously frightening wife. He frowned at a bright green bottle labeled ‘Serendipity’ as he went over his morning in his head. It consisted mostly of being dragged out of bed, informed he was going to do all his Christmas shopping or lose his testicles in a nasty ‘ribbon curling’ incident, and then being deposited outside the nearest shopping complex.
          "Good afternoon sir," a voice suddenly perked. "Can I help you?"
          "I don’t know," Paul replied, still slightly too distracted by his annoyance at Gina and how he was going to make her suffer, to really pay attention to the blonde behind the counter. "Can you?"
          "I hope so," the girl smiled. "Who are you looking for? Mother, sister, girlfriend?"
          "My transvestite brother-in-law," Paul said with mock seriousness. "My wife actually."
          "Ok then," the girl nodded. "Has anything caught your eye?"
          Paul couldn’t help but look at the girl like she was a complete idiot. "Well no, because usually you smell perfume as opposed to looking at it."
          The girl struggled to maintain her smile, her cheeks reddening. "Is there one you’d like to sample then?" she asked sheepishly.
          Paul’s forehead wrinkled as he pondered. "Can you suggest something?"
          "Sure," the girl gushed, her confidence restored. She reached under the counter a moment before producing a clear bottle with a yellowish liquid inside. She grabbed Paul’s hand and sprayed some of the scent on the back of it. "Rococo has a lovely fresh, summery smell…"
          Paul sniffed the back of his hand and had to admit, he liked the idea of whatever the girl had said it was called, leaving its scent on Gina’s bare flesh. Actually the thought itself was making parts of him stir that shouldn’t. "Ah, how much is it?" he asked clearing his throat.
          "Oh it’s on sale," the girl beamed and quickly checked a printed list. "It’s going out for $109, it’s a bargain really."
          "What?" Paul gasped. "$109 for what, 125mls of stinky water, that’s fucking ludicrous!"
          "Yes but imagine your wife’s face on Christmas Day when you present it to her," the girl said winsomely.
          Paul gave a short laugh. "Yeah, she’ll yell at me for wasting money on some smelly liquid."
          "I’m sure she wouldn’t," the girl cussed, fingering the bottle.
          "You don’t know my wife," Paul smiled and then laughed. "No fuck it, I’ll buy it just to piss her off."
          The girl looked at Paul slightly taken aback and then laughed nervously. She made the assumption he must be joking. All women loved perfume didn’t they? Surely the charming man’s wife would be flattered by a gift of such a popular imported fragrance. "Would you like it gift wrapped?"
          "Sure, saves me doing it," Paul smirked, leaning against the counter like it was a bar.
          "I’ll put some nice ribbon on it," the girl perked as she wrapped the perfume in shiny paper that was littered with bells. "Your wife is going to love it."
          "No, she’s going to kill me," Paul giggled and nodded his head. "Might beat me if I’m lucky."
          "Don’t be silly, she’ll be flattered," the girl chided as she curled some red ribbon.
          "I’m serious darlin,’" Paul smiled, slipping the wrapped perfume into one of his shopping bags. "Watch out for the small angry blonde who’ll be trying to return it the second the shops re-open," he added before sauntering away.

          "Well gee Brad, this was a good idea," Fenny frowned as they stood in line to see Santa.
          "Well I didn’t know this was going to happen," Brad huffed, looking to his leg which Lilly was hanging onto, her knuckles white, tears streaming down her face. "Ella never mentioned she was psychologically damaged," he added under his breath.
          "Y’know I’m sure somewhere, somehow, this is your fault," Fenny snide as they moved forward and a small boy was led by a couple of elves to Santa’s lap.
          "Oh that’s right," Brad groused. "It’s always my fault."
          "Yeah, it is," Fenny agreed as the twin girls in front of them skipped up to Santa.
          "You’re mean," Brad pouted as he tried to pry his daughter from his leg. "Sweetie, you ready to go see Santa?"
          "NO!" Lilly wailed and then buried her face in her father’s jeans even more.
          "Come on Lil," Fenny soothed crouching down. "If you don’t tell Santa what you want he can’t bring it for you on Christmas Eve."
          "I’ll e-mail," Lilly mumbled, lip quivering.
          "Is she going or what?" asked a rather bored looking elf.
          "Give her a second," Brad replied through gritted teeth. "How about Fenny goes and shows you how it’s done," he added and then looked cheekily at his wife.
          "Ok," Lilly nodded slowly.
          "Oh you are so never getting any again, ever," Fenny muttered, stalking over to Santa.
          "My you’re a big girl," Santa announced and patted his lap. "Come sit on my knee."
          Fenny looked at him strangely, he was being less jolly and more sleazy. She winced as she lowered her bottom to his lap, his hands finding their way around hers.
          "Now big girl, what do you want for Christmas?" asked Santa, a tinge of whisky on his breath.
          "A sense of self fulfillment," Fenny replied deadpan. "I’d ask for courage but I’m discussing that with Dorothy and the Tinman next week."
          "Ho,ho,ho," Santa beamed. "Someone is a bit of a comedian," he added and Fenny rolled her eyes. "Tell Santa what you really want," he continued and Fenny was about to speak when she felt Santa’s gloved hand cupping one of her breasts. She squeaked, slapped his hand and leapt up.
          "You evil anti-tradition," Fenny gasped, storming over to where Brad and Lilly were waiting.
          "See sweetie there’s nothing to it," Brad beamed. "You wanna go see Santa now?"
          "Over my dead body, there is no way in hell that she is going anywhere near that perverted freak," Fenny cussed, grabbing Lilly’s hand and leading her as far from Santa as possible.
          "What happened?" Brad gasped, stopping Fenny before Lilly’s little legs collapsed.
          "Severe trauma that’s what," Fenny gasped. "I just got groped by a department store Santa!"
          "What?" Brad breathed. "That sleazy fat bastard touched you?"
          "What’s groped?" Lilly asked but was promptly ignored.
          "He grabbed my boob," Fenny said, slightly bashfully.
          Brad narrowed his eyes. "Right," he hissed and stalked back in the direction of Santa.
          "Oh dear," Fenny mumbled, scooping Lilly into her arms. "Brad!"
          Brad stormed back over to where Santa was talking to a couple of small boys, he pushed past the waiting crowds and the elves and only stopped when he reached the bearded man in the red suit. The crowd was talking in hushed voices, a few complaining. "I just feel," Brad breathed, "that all you boys and girls should know something." He reached forward and tore off Santa’s beard and hat. The children screamed and some started to bawl. "He’s not real ok? Your parents bring the gifts," he snapped and then stormed away leaving a mass of shock, confusion and traumatised children.
          "Great, now you’ve got about 30 kids needing intense psychotherapy," Fenny scorned.
          "Go Daddy!" Lilly grinned as she was passed to her father. "You da man!"
          "I’m the what?" Brad gasped as they made their way out of the store.
          "I believe it was ‘da man’," Fenny mused and Lilly nodded.
          "Who taught you that?" Brad demanded.
          "Proopy," Lilly grinned. "And Evil Unkie told me you’re a spaz."
          "Who's Evil Unkie?" Brad asked, looking at Fenny for help.
          "Who do you think? McDermott," Fenny laughed.
          "A spaz is the same as an ass and Daddy is both," Lilly declared proudly as several bawling children were being escorted by their parents from the store.
          "I’m banning her from associating with any of our friends," Brad huffed before being interrupted by a yell.
          "Hey you!" the voice announced and Brad looked over his shoulder to see the pissed off store Santa.
          "FUCK OFF SANTA!" Lilly screamed and the crowds went silent. Fenny and Brad cringed, ashamed that (a) the entire world was going to think they were crap parents and (b) their 4 year old had just yelled an obscenity at good old Santa Claus.
          "See honey," Brad announced loudly. "Told you I was a great ventriloquist," he added, grinning inanely before lowering his voice. "Run to the car very fast."

          Paul paid the cab driver and stumbled onto the kerb with all his bags of shopping. It might have only been a short distance to the front door but sweat seemed to be pooling at the base of his spine nonetheless. He fumbled opening the door before being greeted by a pleasant wall of cold air. Relieved, he dropped his shopping onto the couch and then took to peeling off his clothes until he reached the kitchen. By which time he was only in his boxers and desperate for a cool drink.
          "How’d it go?" Gina asked from where she stood at the sideboard mixing a fruit cake.
          "Highlight of my life," Paul grumbled, opening the fridge and standing with his back to it.
          "You get it all finished?"
          "Yes my little Christmas wench," Paul chided, turning around and fishing out a jug of cold water. Despite the fact he wanted beer, he knew it was more sensible to drink water.
          "Was it busy?" Gina asked, passing him a glass. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know, stupid question."
          "I got stuck at the checkout behind some fucking mad woman who was buying like 12,000 items at least 9000 of which needed price checks," Paul huffed, quickly downing his glass of water.
          "You poor thing," Gina cooed, patting his cheek. "Ah well, it’s done now," she added as Paul moved up behind her, his arms slid around her waist and he dropped a couple of kisses on her neck. "Ew, you’re all sweaty."
          "Hey, I’ve just been forced to traipse through hell," Paul chided. "I have a reason to be perspiring."
          "And stinky," Gina added cheekily.
          "Well you’re no bed of roses," Paul retorted and was softly elbowed in the ribs making him giggle. "Can’t we go do something non-festive for a while," he whined, starting on her neck again.
          "No, I want to finish my cake," Gina giggled, trying to push him away. "And you’re stinky."
          "The cake’ll wait," Paul breathed, his fingers finding their way under her singlet.
          "You’re a bad man," Gina cooed, tilting her face towards her shoulder so they could kiss. "I’ll finish the cake, then we’ll see what we can do about removing that sweat ok?"
          "Deal," Paul agreed and before Gina could get another word out Paul had the baking tin out, coated in cooking spray and was cutting a piece of baking paper for the bottom to stop the cake sticking.
          "Well, at least I’ve found a way to get you enthusiastic," Gina mused as Paul presented the tin to her.
          "I’m always enthusiastic," he grinned cheekily. "When it comes to getting you naked," he added as she poured the mix into the tin. "I’ll go get the shower on and hunt out the good shower gel then," Paul perked, heading out of the kitchen.
          "How do you know that’s what I had in mind?" Gina called and Paul reappeared.
          "Who cares what you want? I’ve done what you want today," Paul declared. "Now we do what I want," he added.
          "You wish!" Gina laughed before being smacked in the head with his sweaty boxers. "Ew…"

          "…Brush the skin with melted butter or oil. Tuck the drumsticks under the folds of skin or tie together with string." Fenny announced aloud as she perused one of the recipe books she’d picked up when they’d been out. "It’s so going to burn, or fall apart or kill people."
          "What is?" Brad asked, somewhat distracted as he sauntered into the kitchen.
          "The turkey," Fenny said blankly. "Remember how I said I was gonna cook?" Brad didn’t respond, his gaze looking firmly at the open recipe book on the breakfast bar. "Earth to Sherwood!"
          "Huh?" Brad mumbled. "Sorry."
          "Are you ok?"
          "No, not really."
          "What’s wrong?" Fenny asked as Brad turned away and leaned against the breakfast bar. "Who was on the phone before."
          "Ella," Brad replied, looking at the floor and then looking at Fenny. "She’s not coming on Christmas, she’s not gonna see her daughter."
          Fenny couldn’t hide the look of surprise on her face. "What? Why?" she asked, caressing Brad’s arm, wanting to comfort him.
          "She and Pete…" Brad began emphasising the name ‘Pete’ with a distinctive ‘he’s a dickhead’ tone, "are going to his parents and then on to Hawaii or something."
          "So when will she come see her daughter?"
          "Early February," Brad sighed. "What am I gonna tell her Fen? Sorry honey but your Mom’s got better things to do than wish you Merry Christmas."
          "No, of course not," Fenny soothed, wrapping her arms around Brad’s waist. "If she doesn’t ask, don’t tell her. If she does, lie as only you know how."
          "I don’t want to lie to my kid," Brad said miserably as he pushed Fenny’s hair behind her shoulders. "I can’t believe Ella would do this."
          "I know it’s horrible to say but Lilly has always preferred to be with you," Fenny shrugged. "I really don’t think she’s going to be that devastated."
          "I know," Brad agreed. "But it’s the principle of the thing. Ella is her Mom and should be there for her."
          "Screw Ella," Fenny groused. "I’m a better mother to that kid than she’s ever been. Hell, I’m a better mother to her than mine is to me."
          "Yeah, you are," Brad smiled and pressed his lips softly against her forehead. They fell into a tight hug, eyes closed and just generally enjoying the fuzzy moment.
          "Yuck," Lilly declared, appearing at the door.
          "I thought you were napping," Brad frowned, having hoped to sneak off to the bedroom for a quickie.
          "Not tired," Lilly shrugged. "Can we have ice cream?"
          "No," Brad scorned. "You’re banned from candy for swearing at Santa."
          "You said he wasn’t real," Lilly pouted.
          "That’s not the point Lil," Fenny sighed. "You’re not supposed to use words like you did."
          "You do," Lilly countered. "Daddy says fuck all the time. He says it when he’s upset, when Mochie does potty on the carpet and to you."
          "Says what to me?" Fenny gasped.
          "Fuck!" Lilly exclaimed causing Brad and Fenny to look sheepishly at each other.
          "I think it’s time we had a talk young lady," Brad groused, letting go of Fenny and walking over to his daughter.
          "Oh," Lilly squeaked as her hand was taken and she was lead back toward her bedroom.
          Fenny shrugged and turned back to her recipe books. "Right, lets see if I can’t destroy a batch of mince pies."

          Gina finished brushing her cooked fruit cake, surprised that Paul hadn’t emerged from his intense present wrapping in the bedroom to steal the leftover brandy. Leaving the cake to cool, the sweet smell of fruit and booze filling the house, she wandered down the hall to the bedroom. She pressed her ear against the door and couldn’t hear the rustling of paper or tearing of sticky tape. Gina gently twisted the knob and poked her head around the door.
          Paul’s presents were all neatly wrapped in a pile at the end of the bed while he was curled up asleep. Gina shook her head and tiptoed into the room, firstly she put the paper, scissors and tape away before crawling onto the bed beside him. He didn’t stir so she gently ran her fingers down his spine. He shivered and opened one eye.
          "Oh man," he groaned. "How long have I been asleep."
          "No idea," Gina mused. "What is it with men. They go shopping once a year and they’re knackered."
          "I think what you did to me in the shower wore me out more," Paul breathed, rolling onto his back. "Don’t suppose it’s got any cooler outside?"
          "Nope, still over a hundred in the old scale," Gina sighed, lying down beside him, her head resting on his bare chest.
          "The Australian summer is evil."
          "Why can’t we have snow like normal people."
          "Well, I did suggest leaving the country."
          "I know hon, I know," Gina soothed closing her eyes. "Next year we go to Uzbekistan."
          "At least we’ve done the family thing already," Paul breathed. "The presents are all bought, house decorated, dinner under control…"
          "Ah crap," Gina groaned. "We’ve got dinner with at the Fidler’s tonight."
          "I’ll cancel, tell Rich that we’ve been struck down with SARS," Paul offered.
          "No, they’ll be expecting us," Gina yawned feeling dozy.
          "What time were we to be there?" Paul asked.
          "Six," Gina replied, not realising how tired she actually was. "Rich said six."
          "Course we will," Paul agreed, neither of them moved and within a minute they were asleep.
          When Paul opened his eyes the room was pitch black apart from the glowing clock radio which he was still not quite awake enough to read. "Genie," he breathed nudging her awake.
          "Mmm," Gina mumbled her cheek stuck to his chest with sweat. "What?"
          "Weren’t we suppose to be somewhere?"
          "Fidler’s."
          "That’s right," Paul yawned. "What time was that?"
          "Six," Gina replied. "What time is it?"
          "Nine fifteen," Paul mused and then paused. "JESUS FUCK!" he yelled, sitting bolt upright, causing Gina’s face to end up in his groin.
          "Thanks hon," Gina huffed, frowning sleepily at him.
          "We’re over three hours late!" Paul exclaimed, looking panicked.
          "Oops," Gina mused and started to snigger. Paul looked at her strangely before he too started giggling. He wasn’t sure why it was funny but he assumed Gina’s low care factor had something to do with it.
          "I better apologise," Paul yawned, getting to his feet and staggering out of the room. He found the phone on the coffee table and dialled his best friend’s number.
          "This better be you McDermott," Richard groused down the line the second he answered the phone.
          "Season’s greetings to you too mate," Paul mused. "I’m so sorry…"
          "Go on, what’s your excuse…"
          "We fell asleep."
          "God and I thought you might be able to hold off long enough to come to dinner."
          "Hold off what mate?"
          "You know what!"
          "You think we were fucking?"
          "Should I be thinking anything else?"
          "I was worn out from Christmas shopping thankyou very much and Genie has been working flat out making preparations."
          "You got worn out from shopping."
          "Christmas shopping Rich, Christmas shopping."
          "Still, that’s a bit sad."
          "Well, we may or may not have had sex in the shower a couple of times as well."
          "Yeah see, I didn’t need to know that."
          "Well you’re the one who wanted a full explanation."
          "I know and it was my mistake."
          "So, do you still want us to pop round or what?"
          "Sure, then my wife can take her frustration at you not turning up out on you and justice will be done."
          "Thanks Rich, I feel so loved."
          "Be grateful you are."
          "You go wish that lovely little wife of yours a Merry Christmas and we’ll be there just as soon as I can locate my pants."
          "Sure and you tell your beautiful specimen of womanhood that I hope Santa brings her something useful, like a new husband."
          "I hate you," Paul chided and hung up. "Get your glad rags on babe we’re going out," he announced loudly then started scanning the floor of the darkened house to find the pants he’d discarded earlier in the day.

          "Ok, see you then," Fenny perked, hung up the phone and felt her Christmas spirit take off to Spain with her mood.
          "Who was on the phone?" Brad asked, sauntering into the room with a few gifts to wrap. The living room was safe since Lilly had been sent to bed extremely early.
          "My mother," Fenny sighed, sitting dejectedly on the couch.
          "Oh? Everything all right?" Brad asked, getting comfortable on the floor.
          "No," Fenny said blankly as she shook her head.
          "Well speak!"
          "Mom, Dad, Sully and Addie are all coming for Christmas dinner."
          "Coming where?"
          "Here Bradley, here."
          Brad paused and tried not to look mortified. "Oh, right."
          "It’s going to be bad, I can feel it," Fenny swallowed.
          "Oh hey, you never know," Brad soothed, squeezing her knee. "It might be fun."
          "Fun, FUN! Mom’ll stand over my shoulder while I cook and question every decision I make. Sully will just brood in the corner, Addie will probably try and kill me and as for Dad…I dread to think."
          "Come on Fen, it might be fun having a few more people around."
          "Yeah Brad, I’m so thrilled I think I’ll go hang myself with some tinsel."
          "Fine, but not the purple stuff."
          Fenny got to her feet and paused. "Why not the purple stuff?"
          "I think it’s pretty," Brad mused and slapped a sticky label on her sneaker.
          "Oh that helped," Fenny scorned crossing her arms.
          Brad smiled and stuck a label onto the toe of her other sneaker. "Now you’re even."
          "I’m so screwed," Fenny whimpered. "I have to cook Christmas dinner, which I’ve never done before, for my family who hate me apart from Dad who’s just too stupid to know any better. Not to mention my step daughter has started swearing like a truckie and my husband is a child."
          "I’m gonna label the parts I want," Brad announced to no one and stuck a label on Fenny’s thigh which read ‘To Brad, From Fenny.’ Fenny let out a frustrated cry and stormed off into the kitchen. "Must be that time of the month," he shrugged and grabbed a roll of bright paper.