in which I am a bitch at christmas. alternative title: no sugar for you, my dear

There is a new house rule instituted by P after Christmas: A shall not be fed copious quantities of sugar in any of its forms at family functions.  I became a scrabble psycho: "well that WOULD be a word if you could spell it correctly" and "how about you lay your tiles this side of next Christmas" (said this little piggy to P's elder brother).  I'm hoping you also think that board games are inventions deliberately aimed at creating family disharmony through competitive behaviour.  P thinks it was the fact I was crashing badly having earlier ingested a bottle of champagne and a block of choc (that's how I roll, literally AND figuratively).

THIS WAS HOW THE GAME STARTED.  THIS WAS NOT HOWEVER HOW THE GAME ENDED. 

NOTE ALSO: P'S HAND.  DOESN'T HE HAVE ATTRACTIVE HANDS?  AREN'T THEY ALWAYS POSITIONED RIGHT BY A DRINK?

I maintain however that there was more to it than eating enough sugar/fats to induce type 2 diabetes and playing a boardgame of which I SHOULD BE QUEEN.  Enforced familial time for a period of days in cold weather and a small apartment does not Miss Congeniality make.  I found myself unable to resist narky comments and while I could feel them coming on (like a sneeze, they build up quickly and explode all over someone else's face unless you trap them with a hand.  Net result is the same face from fam members that you would get for a sneeze on the tube/subway) it was like I lacked all self control.  Scrap that, I do lack all self control (see: choc ingestion earlier referenced).  But I have decided to put myself on a deliberate niceness campaign to the family for 2012.  That's right, the guilt isn't worth it.  Besides which, these are the only people who pretty much have to bear my company on holidays for the rest of my life, so I better start playing nice.  Internets, you're going to bear the brunt of it, I suspect...get prepared for a bitchfestoramaextravangza every time a pineapple lump passes these lips!