Living with a Thai Girl - Jimmie the Party Pooper

It’s a well known fact I am not that keen on encouraging Christmas here. It’s a cruel war, an ugly war, a bad war, BUY BUY BUY is all I hear (OK? My middle name is scrooge).

But with Jing-Joe going to an international school, it was inevitable that she’d hear about Santa.

So? What to do, it's war, so taking a leaf form the 'Art of War' by Tsu, I thought to myself, in face of the combined war machine of commercialism and greed, what to do?

Turn weakness into strength. I embrace the commercial threat, and with a flick of the wrist, in true gorilla warfare style, I flick it to my advantage.

Scene - Jing-Joe - Big C - Toy section.

”I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want!"

So? I calmly put my Reader’s Digest condensed version of ‘The Art of War’ into my back pocket, (wondering how the editors at the Reader’s Digest had woven George W into the book), and pulled out my mobile.

’Jing-Joe’ I am calling 1113, ‘Bug’ (This paragraph sponsored by SAMART) - Jing-Joe looks at me curiously.

'Why?'

'So I can get Santa’s Hotline and tell him your being naughty.'

Suddenly, Jing-Joe is leaving the toy section and walking quietly. A victory, this works!

Over the last 4 weeks, we have had to resort to this type of guerrilla warfare, but no one wins in war.

Christmas Eve, and we decide it's about time we go shopping, thankfully in Thailand no one cares about Christmas except it makes things pretty, so we go shopping, and realize, with all the times I’ve threatened to call Santa, I’m going to have to PAY FOR IT.

Let this be a lesson George W, NO ONE WINS IN WAR!

So! Honey Mumma and I go out to shop, and we shop till we drop, exhausting not just ourselves and our morals, but also our wallets.

Jing-Joe goes to bed, with one last threat of calling the ‘Bug Hotline’ (Thanks SAMART), and we start wrapping.

Note - while every thing else in Thailand is cheap, for some reason PAPER is DAMN expensive, one roll of paper cost more than the swimming goggles, one of the many 'Santa Presents/Payoffs' we bought!

Have you ever tried to hide from a small person on Holiday? Only someone from Irdeto would know how hard that is!

So we wrap and place everything down stairs. While we thought about pouring Santa a medicinal and fortifying glass of whiskey, sadly honey Mumma and my self had polished it off, so the fat bugger wasn’t getting any from us! I know, there is a half bottle of Irish ‘3 Swallows’ in the cupboard, but Honey Mumma and I are saving that for a more important occasion, drinking it in Surin!

We go to bed, exhausted.

Dawn! Arrrr! I am old, I remember even just a few years ago getting to my brother's house in Sydney just after dawn to make pancakes and swap presents.

Dawn! the pain the pain, the noise of excited squeals, the door bursts open.

"Mummy Daddy, Santa been here Santa been here, quick quick!"

Thinking she’s discovered that downstairs there is a sack of presents, we struggle into decency, roll Jimmie awake, and follow her . . . . but not down-stairs, but into Honey Mumma’s room where she slept the night.

"Look look, look what Santa left me!" She screams in pure delight.

There, in front of the TV is a single strand of left over tinsel.

TINSEL! FAAAAARRRRKKKKKKK!

My mum and I nearly die from laughing, all we spent to pay for our sins of using ‘The Santa Threat’ and she’s happy with a single strand of left over tinsel!

So when we move downstairs, poor Jing-Joe nearly faints from the amount of presents Santa and our combined guilt has left under the tree.

I make pancakes as is our custom, and people wash clean and gather downstairs, for our pancakes, and new this year, pancakes with banana and coconut, with REAL Canadian male syrup.

The title of this story you're wondering? Well, just as we start to eat, Jimmie, sitting naked, decided to be a real party pooper, liquid shit went everywhere!

Not to be outdone, Dar has booked Jing-Joe into the dentist at noon, and Honey Mumma is cooking a real roast for dinner. From the mob in Bangkok: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

p.s. It’s quiet now, 8 at night and Jing-Joe has just walked up to my desk and given me an envelope.

"What’s this?" I ask.

“A letter to Santa.”

"Why?"

“For everything I want for tomorrow.”

Ahh, the pain, how to explain to a three year old that Santa only comes once a year. “TWO TOMORROWS” is as far forward as she can think!

“Sorry darling, but he doesn’t come tomorrow, but I will give it to him and tell him you have been the most best’est girl in the world.”

Jimmie Blonde

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