Tag Archives: Christmas

5 good thing about getting dumped right before Christmas

17 Dec

1) It’s one less gift to buy…
2) …but you can spend the money you saved on something for yourself instead. Like a new dress, or a massage, or a Rampant Rabbit ;)
3) You can take advantage of the abundance of mistletoe. It’s never been so socially acceptable to kiss complete strangers in the name of tradition.
4) You can eat as many yummy little pigs-in-blankets as you want without worrying about anyone seeing your Christmas belly outside the confines of your festive jumper.
5) No need to shave your legs. Helloooo opaque tights!

A rash of inconvenience

26 Dec

There are many good places to be on Boxing Day, but the waiting room of the NHS walk-in centre in Dudley is not one of them. However, I have to get this rash sorted before my New Year Amsterdam shagfest with Tom, the architecture student I met in a bar three weeks ago. Yes, he’s a student and at 25 he’s three years younger than me but he also makes me laugh, has great taste in music and is gorgeous in a dark-haired, slightly-bearded Northern sort of way.

The rash reared its ugly head(s) shortly before Christmas and at first I simply shrugged it off and hoped it would go away, as I do with most things I dislike – there not being enough time to even consider a doctor’s appointment in the December rush at work anyway. But then the crop of small, red, slightly raised blotches started to spread across my torso and back and boobs and thighs, causing me to think it might be impetigo. A friend had this once and it spread all up his neck to his face, which turned scaly and blistered like something off Star Trek. So of course I panicked, and shoved all my clothes and underwear and towels and bed sheets into a hot wash before showering every inch of myself and covering the rash with sticking plasters (two boxes of them).

But when I arrived home for Christmas my mum told me it most definitely wasn’t impetigo and my sister said it looked very similar to something she had a couple of years ago, which turned out to be a form of psoriasis (temporary, although it did last for three months). And so it is that I find myself in a crowded room surrounded by women in velour tracksuits clutching screaming babies with names like Tyler and Skye while Punjabi men frown at their hands folded solemnly in the laps of their kurtas. The two-hour wait stretches before of me like an extended special of Jeremy Kyle.

Unexplained skin irritations aside, there’s much to be done in preparation for said mini-break. As well as the usual money to change, airport transfers etc. etc. there’s new underwear to buy, a Christmas belly to vamoose! and – last but not least – the battle of keeping body hair under control for a full week. Sadly the IPL I’ve been having on my underarms and bikini line hasn’t worked its magic yet – must book wax.

An hour and a half later, after I’d bared my splotchy belly at him, the really-quite-cute doctor confirmed it was probably a mild form of psoriasis, probably triggered by stress.
“Do you ever suffer from stress?” he asked.
“Er, work has been pretty busy recently,” I told him, trying to remember the last time I took a day off.
He prescribed me a steroid gel to be used daily and recommended I try to relax more.
Relax? I’m editor of a daily news website. Stress is part of my job description.

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