Every year I promise myself that I will not leave my Christmas shopping until the last minute and yet somehow, despite quality organisational skills (my bedroom would say otherwise), I still find myself ploughing up escalators and charging like a bull at a gate towards the shops. Each year I contend with other customers, and I conquer. I'm a woman on a mission, and no one is going to stand in my way. For what is usually a sanctuary for me is now a battlefield. As soon as I enter the doors, I hoist my handbag over my shoulder and it's game on. Like football, I am competing in a contact sport. I am armed with my heavy duty shopping list and am equipped for battle. Bring it. I know what I want and I will stop at nothing to get it. Yes, I am talking to you lady. Yes you, the one eyeing off that gorgeous- last- one- in- stock gift which I had already mentally claimed before you even awoke to the realisation that it was within your reach. I will get what I came here for. You are messing with the wrong woman. I am highly medicated. I may look cute but I can be psycho. Oh, and I can cry on demand. So please, for the well being of innocent children and bystanders...... back off.

I swear that I will not go anywhere within a three kilometer radius of chaotic Christmas shopping crowds in the lead up to the big day celebration but nonetheless, I can be found weaving and dodging my way through crowds consisting of people who walk too darn slow, those who can't make up their mind and decide which direction they wish to go and countless mothers who think that just because they have a 'baby on board' sign entitles them to behave as though they own the shopping complex. Thinking, why do I leave things until the last minute. Why. Why do I do that? Maybe it's because I enjoy travelling on an escalator and having handbags and shopping bags rammed in my arse. Or because I love having my heels kicked by some idiot who thinks it is cool to walk hot on my heals and copy Hamish and Andy by 'ghost- walking' behind me for half the length of the shopping centre. Maybe I just enjoy having my handbag rudely ripped and knocked off my shoulder by ignorant passer byers who mis-judge the space between me and the next rack of clothing. Or maybe I like having to resist the urge to hold a register assistant ransom because they refused to give me an incorrectly scanned item for the reduced price which was displayed on the ticket because they couldn't be bothered checking. Karma will get you, bitch.

Maybe I just enjoy queuing in a line for twenty-five minutes while I glare at women who refuse to discipline their out of control, screaming, squealing, high pitched, tantrum throwing children. I came to shop, not see an opera. Heck, you need to discipline your child before I punch them in the face. Oh, I know- maybe it's the adrenaline rush I get from glaring furiously at the obnoxious, inpatient snob who jumped the que with my huge dark brown eyes with daggers protruding. Don't you worry, I will set your in- polite rude streak right. I do know how to gauge out your eyeballs so that you won't be able to see where the line starts and finishes. Oh and did I mention that I am also suffering from PMS and have a gun? Any questions?

To tell you the truth, I really don't know why I find myself shopping at such a silly time, but mind you, clearly I'm not the only one who has adopted the motto "There's still time to shop", with a variety of stores open around the clock. And although I may shop when Christmas day is a little too close for comfort- it gets done. I guess the saying is true that if it weren't for the last minute, nothing would get done. And heck do I shop my very best. Put simply though, I love to shop. And come Christmas morning I love giving gifts that I have bent over backwards trying to get. I may have been kicked, pushed, shoved and rammed; I may be wounded from battle, but you can betcha bottom dollar- I always come home with the goods.