Today was seemingly occupied with:
A) standing in the queue at the post office
B) trundling to and from aforesaid post office like a particularly diligent ant moving a hoard of staples (the edible kind, not those of the stationery bent) to the nest, or
C) wrapping presents.

Today was also a refresher course in:
A) why I should not buy books as presents when I have to lug them all to the post office and spend a fortune in postage, and
B) remembering I was born without whatever gene it is that gives someone the capacity to wrap presents prettily.

I can buy shiny ribbons. I love buying wrapping paper. I adore tinsel and all dangly bits (some dangly bits more than others, but that's a completely different topic that I'm really not going to into right now. Children: I'm talking about Christmas tree decorations. Really.)

Despite having all things shiny and wrappable, by the time I've finished hog-wrestling a present into submission it looks like it's been butchered. Butchered daintily, but butchered nonetheless.

Every other female I know can wrap. Do curly thingys, ruffle bits on top, you name it. I can't. I am a failure as a female.

Which is why I've opted for a quick 'n' dirty blip, because I spent 99.9% of the day obsessed with getting as many presents wrapped in one session as possible. And because whenever I stepped outside I was bowed under the weight of presents and had not so much as a finger spare to take a photo of anything!

Midnight. Am officially Over Wrapping.