Here, were lucky
December 14, 2003
Feature: The season to be single
There?s no better time of year to make merry and be slutty, says Kate Spicer. Just don?t beat yourself up on Christmas morning
December is the month to be single, everyone knows that. Even the recently dumped thank the dumper for offing them on November 30, thus saving them the cost of Christmas presents and giving them the opportunity to go totally mental with drink and kissing. Nobody falls in love in December ? they make love instead.
The reason that December is such a prime time to go it alone is the unholy trinity of shopping, dancing and intoxication. These are not spiritual activities: mainstream religions disapprove because they are the giddying catalysts of dissolution and extreme misbehaviour. They raise the heartbeat, lower inhibitions and loosen the morals more efficiently than a Rohypnol martini.
Seasonal abandon kicks off with the first naughty kiss, which comes long after the first festive Woolworths ad, usually around late November. When singles say they ?feel Christmassy?, it is this, and not the smell of roasting chestnuts, they speak of. This initial indiscretion is so exhilarating that you go out and buy lavish underwear, which only leads to more showing off, possibly even flashing a sneaky peek of those sequined Miu Miu knickers on the dance floor ? on which you are an absolute star because you are more in touch with your sensual, physical self, which gets you another, umm, kiss. And so on, until Christmas morning, when, sitting on your parents? bed, you catch a glimpse of a hollow-eyed harlot with barely the strength to speak.
December Girl goes out pretty much every night and doesn?t lose her voice until Christmas Eve. Combined with the phenomenon of the selfish and indulgent ?me? generation, this has made December the most decadent of months. Gifts for everyone, including yourself, is the subtext of much seasonal advertising. The ?me? generation spends as much money ? more ? on themselves as they do on others at Christmas. This year, De Beers has come up with the right-hand ?me? ring to take the phenomenon of ?self-gifting? to its most excessive limits. ?Your left hand says ?we?, your right hand says, ?me?. Women of the world, raise your right hand.?
?Self-gifting? is a ridiculous American word, but I am glad someone has put a name to my favourite pastime. One friend rang me to say that she had been Christmas shopping and spent a fortune on three pairs of boots and a Roland Mouret halterneck top. Where couples might buy a loved one a meaningful little trinket, the singleton merely treats herself. Why not? Nobody else will. When she?s shopping on the permanent post-party high of the December roll, that ditzy little micro puffball skirt for £150 seems an ace way of keeping the roll rolling. It makes her feel good and the boys gather round. Welcome to the December effect.
The heady effects of the unholy trinity of shopping, of drinking, of shaking your booty ? repeatedly ? make one-night stands sort of inevitable. Festive encounters should be approached with gay abandon and extreme caution, simultaneously. Avoid one-night stands with people you think you might want a relationship with. This could prove a serious blow to the December ego ? because boys, and girls, have a tendency not to come back for more if they have eaten pudding first.
And eating pudding first is what this month is all about. My friend Bad Mandy doesn?t approve of one-night stands; she says they make her feel used. However, this has never stopped her having the odd unladylike shag in the Ladies. ?That?s different, there?s no kissing, no cuddling, no eye contact. That?s just fun.?
We were loafing in the steam room at the gym on December 2 one year, and she admitted she had ?kissed? a lovely Brazilian that weekend. ?I need another one,? she says. All the other naked women tittered in the mist. Perhaps it?s just the girls at my gym, but I reckon we all go a little bit slutty at Christmas. So off Bad Mandy and I trot to a Christmas party full of young, strapping Italian chefs. Bad Mandy finds a pretty boy, and while she doesn?t take him home (or to the loo), it?s clear the girl is on a serious roll.
Bad Mandy isn?t a slut. But, in December, a roll has plenty of social oxygen to thrive on. The entire month ends up being an excuse for one party after another dinner after another little trip to the shops. The effects of accumulated hangovers and end-of-year professional ennui can make a girl quite giddy and thick ? which men just love. December is the month that keeps on giving, although it doesn?t do much for feminism.
Ah, shoot, save it for your new year?s resolutions. We don?t live in the morally bereft west for nothing. And what else to do with a month that virtually culminates in Christmas Day? The touchy- feely family yuletide message is entirely lost on single folk. The run-up to the big day, on the other hand, is entirely different, and its strong adult content is not a family show. Thank God.
It looks as if Jesus didn?t so much die for our sins as be born to encourage them. It?s a right shocker, really. But such fun.