to think that if you are invited round tio your neighbours house for Christmas lunch you do not

[Ormirian]

turn up at 6am. Tramp mud into the carpet. Invite your parents round before lunch and then demand they are given cheese and biscuits with gherkins. Or take the host and hostess for a forced march through hip high water to a fairground run by zombies.

And worst of all not let the hostess have any champagne because rats have nibbled the corks?

Well AIBU?

Or do you think that perhaps I need to stop eating cheese just before bedtime?

Are you sure it was mud? Did you visit a New Look or find any socks in the area? Also, surely you'd be forced to wade if the water levels were at hip height, no?

I wonder what Freud would make of that peabodyblue...

Trust nobody. They aren't your friends, they're zombies too and so is your husband - he isn't pissed, he's the living dead. I don't know if you have to divorce him or if the marriage is officially over what with him being sort of dead. Actually, does anyone know the legal position, we should probably find out for when the day comes.