Father like son, like mother. NOT.

What really boils my urine this time of the year is when you hear someone say ‘I know exactly what to get for my parents this Christmas.’  As far as I can remember, I’ve always struggled to buy my parents a Christmas present.  Birthdays are fine; it’s just the festive period that gives me the blood splats.

It must be the Indian nature, way of life, old school.  They don’t expect anything and when they do get a little surprise, nothing is ever right; that’s too expensive. We don’t have the room for it. Why have you brought this?

This year I ‘had’ it wrapped up.  Both parents are full-time grandparents, but my mum also flirts part-time as a cashier.  My main priority is making sure they enjoy their life away from the hustle bustle the corner shop provided; screaming, thieving, pikey kids.  And let’s not forget about the working hours; 365 days a year working 5.30 am till 8pm.  True Dat.

This frame of mind needs to be broken.

Initial thought for a present would be a puppy.  Something that will keep them on their toes; get them out the house, away from the TV, become travelled.

Now we’ve never been able to have a dog because of the corner shop.  And also the fact we used to live up above.  No garden.

Now we have a HOUSE and a GARDEN, so there is no excuse; even though I’m sure they will find one or two.

After deep conversations with family and friends, this idea has seemed to have lost its jazz.  My childhood dream was almost plucked out from the memory bank, but the mutant in the dark has grabbed the bitch back down.

So I’m back to the boiling urine with only a few more days of online shopping.

I have found this door knocker, but something tells me they won’t like it.