*bounce*

Just got back from a few days at Steve's... we didn't do anything blog-worthy, to be honest, but it was one of those occasions where what you're doing isn't as important as who's there at the time. It was, in truth, a very lazy weekend, but I can't think of any way I would have done it differently... :)

[sickening bit describing feeeelings removed in favour of the quote "You're gay, gays kiss boys," as the latter is probably more acceptable to the readership... :P]

Also, I now have a Me To You bear - my Christmas present from Steve.

Happyhappy. :)

Unfortunately, I came back today to find that the neat pile of addressed Christmas cards I'd left in the kitchen, where someone would see them and hopefully sort them out with stamps (since no one would tell me where the bloody stamps were when I was writing them) were still there.

Well, almost. They were scattered all over the place. Expect to see your Christmas cards arriving sometime after Christmas, if not New Year... sorry... :(
Also, one is still missing. I really am not looking forward to re-writing it, considering the amount of effort that went into it in the first place. :(

The problem with such disappearances (Kathryn-linked) is that it is really, really difficult to try to find out where the missing item has gone - you have to know exactly how to phrase your questions and when to ask them (which I generally don't when I've been having only adult conversations for 3 days), and even then you feel like your brain is being slowly kneaded into mush. My attempt to find the missing card went something like:

Me [to the room in general]: "Who messed up the Christmas cards I left in the kitchen?"
Louise [ lightening speed]: "Kathryn did."
Me : "Kathryn, did you knock over some wee Christmas cards?"

[Kathryn makes such an amazing pretence of not having heard me that I ask the question again in case she didn't hear. I get an identical response, meaning that she thinks she's for it and has therefore decided that she can't get in trouble if she pretends nothing to do with Christmas cards has occurred at any point in the last week, including my asking questions.]

Me: "Kathryn... why didn't you pick up the cards when you knocked them over?"

[Kathryn stays silent, but more uncomfortably so, since the initial tactic doesn't seem to have worked. She's going to have to say something now. Best continue pretending I didn't ask a question...]

Kathryn: "Um..."
[picks up the Me To You bear]
"Is this your wee bear?"
[sets a gift tag on it]
"Look, I wrote a card for Mammy..."
[more 5-year-old chatting... and still more]

...

At this point I gave up and went to look for a reasonably cushioned wall to start banging my head against.