The exact etymology of the term "boxing" is unclear. There are several competing theories, none of which is definitive.^[1] The European tradition, which has long included giving money and other gifts to those who were needy and in service positions, has been dated to the Middle Ages, but the exact origin is unknown. It may come from a custom in the late Roman/early Christian era, wherein metal boxes placed outside churches were used to collect special offerings tied to the Feast of Saint Stephen,^[2] which in the Western Church falls on the same day as Boxing Day.

In Britain, it was a custom for tradesmen to collect "Christmas boxes" of money or presents on the first weekday after Christmas as thanks for good service throughout the year.^[3] This is mentioned in Samuel Pepys' diary entry for 19 December 1663.^[4] This custom is linked to an older English tradition: Since they would have to wait on their masters on Christmas Day, the servants of the wealthy were allowed the next day to visit their families. The employers would give each servant a box to take home containing gifts and bonuses, and sometimes leftover food.

...from wikipedia

Slightly off topic... (or is it?)

Why is it called a boxing RING, when it's not ring shaped, it's SQUARE..!!!???

LOL, everything surrounding xmas is vague and fake..

and i wanted to discuss, father xmas. how do kids grow up, get their heart broken when they found out he's fake, become adults and lie to THEIR kids about it again?

Suhail wrote:

People knocking each other out to get through the boxing day sale ques.....Mama said Knock You Out!

lol

Did anyone go to the sales? I prefer to avoid them

Back in the day, when men and women wore clothes that actually covered them, the general rule was that women were to go out and buy clothing for the family. Men provided the money but women had to physically get up, out of the house and go inside shops and use their brains to buy clothes. 

Now one day, there was this woman who was walking around a shop that sold ornaments. Each ornament in the shop had its own story. Some dated back years and some had family value to it. Now this woman was walking around and it didn't take her long to finish doing a single round of the shop. Because, of course, back in the day, shops were family businesses in the majority of the villages and each shop was the size of a normal house. The family would live upstairs whilst the downstairs rooms were devoted to making customers come inside and buy items. 

So back to the lady who was had just finished doing a single round of the shop. Her shoes were made of fancy material and as there was no one else in the shop at that moment, she stopped and looked at a painting on the wall that she would never have put on her wall; what would people say?

The painting was quite obviously a creation of an amateur. There was a child standing at the corner of the painting looking at her father in a desperate longing way. The child looked obviously spoilt. The father in the picture looked like he had no time to spare for the child. The painting captured the moment perfectly. 

The lady looked at the child's face and felt a moment of flashback to the times when she herself was little and watched her neighbour bringing in expensive goodies to her children. And how she would feel always that her toys and everything her parents gave her was not good enough. 

The lady shook her head and smiled at how rich she was nowadays. Thank goodness, she thought, thank goodness Henry is so rich. And he thinks I would have married him otherwise. Good thing, I have a kind heart otherwise I would have poisoned him by now! And then I could have done whatever I wished to do with the thousands he has! She chuckled to herself. I'm a good person really. I'm sure God can see that! I am a patient woman. Everyone dies one day and I just hope he dies before I do! 

She laughed to herself now. She was a funny lady. She often wondered why no one else shared in with her amusements. 

She decided at that moment that she would purchase the painting. She turned around to find the shopkeeper looking at her strangely. The lady did not like this. The lady was wearing expensive clothing and she looked elegant. Why was this scraggy woman who looked too young to be serving such people like herself looking at her like that?

'I want this painting. Please wrap it up carefully.' She demanded.

'Is it a present, ma'am? Shall I go get the fancy looking wrapping paper? My grandad says people will like the present better!' The shopkeeper replied.

'No, just wrap it up in brown paper. There's a good girl. And I must insist that you absolutely do not tell any other customer that I purchased this painting!' The lady's voice had started to become very stern. 

The shopkeeper stared a second longer before hurrying to the shelves where the wrapping paper and scissors were kept. 

The lady watched the shopkeeper very skillfully wrap the painting swiftly and wished she had the delicacy to do these things herself. But she was not satisfied. 

'It looks like I have purchased a painting! And this is the only painting in the shop. This will not do!' She was muttering.

'What do you mean, ma'am? I have done what you have asked of me!' 

'Even after wrapping, it still looks like a painting!!I can't have anyone know that I bought this!!!' Her voice had become shrilly. 

The shopkeeper felt uncomfortable. Was this lady deluded? Was she crazy? Should she go upstairs and wake her grandad?

She decided to call her grandad. The lady was walking around the shop again very fast and muttering.

The shopkeeper took two steps at a time up the stairs and then knocked on her grandads door before going inside. He was awake reading a book which he put down when he saw his visitor. 

'What's wrong, Lizzie?' He asked curiously. He thought she looked lost.

'The lady came again today. She stood and stared at the painting today again. And she has finally bought it! She always stares at the nameplate, Grandad? Have you noticed? She always comes in and straight to the painting and looks at the signature at the corner of the painting! Anyway, she's downstairs, Grandad, will you come help me? She's talking to herself again!' 

Her Grandad had already stood at the words 'the lady' and 'painting'. His heart was pounding whilst he thought about how he should approach the situation. He had been on the receiving end of this very situation many times by the same lady. He grabbed a box under his bed and walked downstairs. Behind the counter, he stood and looked at the lady whilst she was looking at an ornament resembling a bird. His face softened but his eyes showed guilt and pain. 

'M'lady! How are you today?' He shouted across the room.

The lady turned around and frowned. Her face showed no emotion. She demanded for the painting to be wrapped again and again.

 Of course, he thought to himself, why would she remember him? Strange though, how she always requests to come in this shop. Perhaps she feels something towards this place that she herself does not understand. He shivered at the thought of her always staring at the painting. He should have destroyed the painting thirty years ago. But it was the hope that kept it intact. The hope that she would remember.

As the lady walked slowly towards him, he put the box on the table and put the painting inside. 

'What are you doing?' She looked at him. 

'Today is boxing day!' He roared and laughed at his joke. 'I name today boxing day, because all my customers have asked me to put their items in a box!' 

'But what is the point of that? Christmas Day was yesterday. Boxing Day in that case should be on the 24th!!' She retorted.

'Don't be silly! We can't have boxing day and Christmas Eve clashing now can we? The elves in the North Pole will get confused!' He laughed again. 

The shop suddenly became very quiet. He slowly wrapped the painting again and then placed it in the box. He had done this countless times for this very person. Every now and then he would glance at her. And every time he would find her staring intensely at him packing. He always wanted to tell her at this moment. And it was always the same. The story would be at the tip of his tongue. He would always just about want to say it out loud. But he became too nervous and his hands would always start shaking. And as always she would notice.

'Your hands are shaking. Pack that again properly!' She said in an emotionless voice. He always wondered whether she herself detected the many times she had said that same phrase.

He quickly packed the painting. And pushed it towards her. There was a moment of silence. They both heard a man walking towards the entrance of the shop. 

The door opened and they both looked towards the door. The man popped his head in through the door and looked at them both. 

The Grandad and the man made eye contact before the man nodded his head. 

The lady looked furious. 

'You always do this!' She screamed and walked away.

The Grandad's heart jolted at the word, always. 

She knew. She knew. She knows about the painting. Then why is she going back?
He ran towards the door and shouted her name whilst he watched her get inside the carriage.

She turned around and looked at him for a moment before saying, 'Its my home now father. I belong there.'
 
 

BORED BORED BORED

WHAT DO INSOMNIACS DO WITH THEIR TIME

I wrote the story above without planning it and now I dont know how to finish it.

It was supposed to start off as a joke answer to why Boxing Day was called boxing day.

And look what a mess it turned into. 

Please end it otherwise its going to do my head in.

Im going to go cook some brekky. 

s.b.f wrote:

Back in the day, when men and women wore clothes that actually covered them, the general rule was that women were to go out and buy clothing for the family. Men provided the money but women had to physically get up, out of the house and go inside shops and use their brains to buy clothes. 

Now one day, there was this woman who was walking around a shop that sold ornaments. Each ornament in the shop had its own story. Some dated back years and some had family value to it. Now this woman was walking around and it didn't take her long to finish doing a single round of the shop. Because, of course, back in the day, shops were family businesses in the majority of the villages and each shop was the size of a normal house. The family would live upstairs whilst the downstairs rooms were devoted to making customers come inside and buy items. 

So back to the lady who was had just finished doing a single round of the shop. Her shoes were made of fancy material and as there was no one else in the shop at that moment, she stopped and looked at a painting on the wall that she would never have put on her wall; what would people say?

The painting was quite obviously a creation of an amateur. There was a child standing at the corner of the painting looking at her father in a desperate longing way. The child looked obviously spoilt. The father in the picture looked like he had no time to spare for the child. The painting captured the moment perfectly. 

The lady looked at the child's face and felt a moment of flashback to the times when she herself was little and watched her neighbour bringing in expensive goodies to her children. And how she would feel always that her toys and everything her parents gave her was not good enough. 

The lady shook her head and smiled at how rich she was nowadays. Thank goodness, she thought, thank goodness Henry is so rich. And he thinks I would have married him otherwise. Good thing, I have a kind heart otherwise I would have poisoned him by now! And then I could have done whatever I wished to do with the thousands he has! She chuckled to herself. I'm a good person really. I'm sure God can see that! I am a patient woman. Everyone dies one day and I just hope he dies before I do! 

She laughed to herself now. She was a funny lady. She often wondered why no one else shared in with her amusements. 

She decided at that moment that she would purchase the painting. She turned around to find the shopkeeper looking at her strangely. The lady did not like this. The lady was wearing expensive clothing and she looked elegant. Why was this scraggy woman who looked too young to be serving such people like herself looking at her like that?

'I want this painting. Please wrap it up carefully.' She demanded.

'Is it a present, ma'am? Shall I go get the fancy looking wrapping paper? My grandad says people will like the present better!' The shopkeeper replied.

'No, just wrap it up in brown paper. There's a good girl. And I must insist that you absolutely do not tell any other customer that I purchased this painting!' The lady's voice had started to become very stern. 

The shopkeeper stared a second longer before hurrying to the shelves where the wrapping paper and scissors were kept. 

The lady watched the shopkeeper very skillfully wrap the painting swiftly and wished she had the delicacy to do these things herself. But she was not satisfied. 

'It looks like I have purchased a painting! And this is the only painting in the shop. This will not do!' She was muttering.

'What do you mean, ma'am? I have done what you have asked of me!' 

'Even after wrapping, it still looks like a painting!!I can't have anyone know that I bought this!!!' Her voice had become shrilly. 

The shopkeeper felt uncomfortable. Was this lady deluded? Was she crazy? Should she go upstairs and wake her grandad?

She decided to call her grandad. The lady was walking around the shop again very fast and muttering.

The shopkeeper took two steps at a time up the stairs and then knocked on her grandads door before going inside. He was awake reading a book which he put down when he saw his visitor. 

'What's wrong, Lizzie?' He asked curiously. He thought she looked lost.

'The lady came again today. She stood and stared at the painting today again. And she has finally bought it! She always stares at the nameplate, Grandad? Have you noticed? She always comes in and straight to the painting and looks at the signature at the corner of the painting! Anyway, she's downstairs, Grandad, will you come help me? She's talking to herself again!' 

Her Grandad had already stood at the words 'the lady' and 'painting'. His heart was pounding whilst he thought about how he should approach the situation. He had been on the receiving end of this very situation many times by the same lady. He grabbed a box under his bed and walked downstairs. Behind the counter, he stood and looked at the lady whilst she was looking at an ornament resembling a bird. His face softened but his eyes showed guilt and pain. 

'M'lady! How are you today?' He shouted across the room.

The lady turned around and frowned. Her face showed no emotion. She demanded for the painting to be wrapped again and again.

 Of course, he thought to himself, why would she remember him? Strange though, how she always requests to come in this shop. Perhaps she feels something towards this place that she herself does not understand. He shivered at the thought of her always staring at the painting. He should have destroyed the painting thirty years ago. But it was the hope that kept it intact. The hope that she would remember.

As the lady walked slowly towards him, he put the box on the table and put the painting inside. 

'What are you doing?' She looked at him. 

'Today is boxing day!' He roared and laughed at his joke. 'I name today boxing day, because all my customers have asked me to put their items in a box!' 

'But what is the point of that? Christmas Day was yesterday. Boxing Day in that case should be on the 24th!!' She retorted.

'Don't be silly! We can't have boxing day and Christmas Eve clashing now can we? The elves in the North Pole will get confused!' He laughed again. 

The shop suddenly became very quiet. He slowly wrapped the painting again and then placed it in the box. He had done this countless times for this very person. Every now and then he would glance at her. And every time he would find her staring intensely at him packing. He always wanted to tell her at this moment. And it was always the same. The story would be at the tip of his tongue. He would always just about want to say it out loud. But he became too nervous and his hands would always start shaking. And as always she would notice.

'Your hands are shaking. Pack that again properly!' She said in an emotionless voice. He always wondered whether she herself detected the many times she had said that same phrase.

He quickly packed the painting. And pushed it towards her. There was a moment of silence. They both heard a man walking towards the entrance of the shop. 

The door opened and they both looked towards the door. The man popped his head in through the door and looked at them both. 

The Grandad and the man made eye contact before the man nodded his head. 

The lady looked furious. 

'You always do this!' She screamed and walked away.

The Grandad's heart jolted at the word, always. 

She knew. She knew. She knows about the painting. Then why is she going back?

He ran towards the door and shouted her name whilst he watched her get inside the carriage.

She turned around and looked at him for a moment before saying, 'Its my home now father. I belong there.'

 

 

Wow, this is lovely. And so beautifully written... I actually read it all.

I thought it was a copy and paste job for sure. 

Rawrrs_isarollingstone wrote:

s.b.f wrote:

Back in the day, when men and women wore clothes that actually covered them, the general rule was that women were to go out and buy clothing for the family. Men provided the money but women had to physically get up, out of the house and go inside shops and use their brains to buy clothes. 

Now one day, there was this woman who was walking around a shop that sold ornaments. Each ornament in the shop had its own story. Some dated back years and some had family value to it. Now this woman was walking around and it didn't take her long to finish doing a single round of the shop. Because, of course, back in the day, shops were family businesses in the majority of the villages and each shop was the size of a normal house. The family would live upstairs whilst the downstairs rooms were devoted to making customers come inside and buy items. 

So back to the lady who was had just finished doing a single round of the shop. Her shoes were made of fancy material and as there was no one else in the shop at that moment, she stopped and looked at a painting on the wall that she would never have put on her wall; what would people say?

The painting was quite obviously a creation of an amateur. There was a child standing at the corner of the painting looking at her father in a desperate longing way. The child looked obviously spoilt. The father in the picture looked like he had no time to spare for the child. The painting captured the moment perfectly. 

The lady looked at the child's face and felt a moment of flashback to the times when she herself was little and watched her neighbour bringing in expensive goodies to her children. And how she would feel always that her toys and everything her parents gave her was not good enough. 

The lady shook her head and smiled at how rich she was nowadays. Thank goodness, she thought, thank goodness Henry is so rich. And he thinks I would have married him otherwise. Good thing, I have a kind heart otherwise I would have poisoned him by now! And then I could have done whatever I wished to do with the thousands he has! She chuckled to herself. I'm a good person really. I'm sure God can see that! I am a patient woman. Everyone dies one day and I just hope he dies before I do! 

She laughed to herself now. She was a funny lady. She often wondered why no one else shared in with her amusements. 

She decided at that moment that she would purchase the painting. She turned around to find the shopkeeper looking at her strangely. The lady did not like this. The lady was wearing expensive clothing and she looked elegant. Why was this scraggy woman who looked too young to be serving such people like herself looking at her like that?

'I want this painting. Please wrap it up carefully.' She demanded.

'Is it a present, ma'am? Shall I go get the fancy looking wrapping paper? My grandad says people will like the present better!' The shopkeeper replied.

'No, just wrap it up in brown paper. There's a good girl. And I must insist that you absolutely do not tell any other customer that I purchased this painting!' The lady's voice had started to become very stern. 

The shopkeeper stared a second longer before hurrying to the shelves where the wrapping paper and scissors were kept. 

The lady watched the shopkeeper very skillfully wrap the painting swiftly and wished she had the delicacy to do these things herself. But she was not satisfied. 

'It looks like I have purchased a painting! And this is the only painting in the shop. This will not do!' She was muttering.

'What do you mean, ma'am? I have done what you have asked of me!' 

'Even after wrapping, it still looks like a painting!!I can't have anyone know that I bought this!!!' Her voice had become shrilly. 

The shopkeeper felt uncomfortable. Was this lady deluded? Was she crazy? Should she go upstairs and wake her grandad?

She decided to call her grandad. The lady was walking around the shop again very fast and muttering.

The shopkeeper took two steps at a time up the stairs and then knocked on her grandads door before going inside. He was awake reading a book which he put down when he saw his visitor. 

'What's wrong, Lizzie?' He asked curiously. He thought she looked lost.

'The lady came again today. She stood and stared at the painting today again. And she has finally bought it! She always stares at the nameplate, Grandad? Have you noticed? She always comes in and straight to the painting and looks at the signature at the corner of the painting! Anyway, she's downstairs, Grandad, will you come help me? She's talking to herself again!' 

Her Grandad had already stood at the words 'the lady' and 'painting'. His heart was pounding whilst he thought about how he should approach the situation. He had been on the receiving end of this very situation many times by the same lady. He grabbed a box under his bed and walked downstairs. Behind the counter, he stood and looked at the lady whilst she was looking at an ornament resembling a bird. His face softened but his eyes showed guilt and pain. 

'M'lady! How are you today?' He shouted across the room.

The lady turned around and frowned. Her face showed no emotion. She demanded for the painting to be wrapped again and again.

 Of course, he thought to himself, why would she remember him? Strange though, how she always requests to come in this shop. Perhaps she feels something towards this place that she herself does not understand. He shivered at the thought of her always staring at the painting. He should have destroyed the painting thirty years ago. But it was the hope that kept it intact. The hope that she would remember.

As the lady walked slowly towards him, he put the box on the table and put the painting inside. 

'What are you doing?' She looked at him. 

'Today is boxing day!' He roared and laughed at his joke. 'I name today boxing day, because all my customers have asked me to put their items in a box!' 

'But what is the point of that? Christmas Day was yesterday. Boxing Day in that case should be on the 24th!!' She retorted.

'Don't be silly! We can't have boxing day and Christmas Eve clashing now can we? The elves in the North Pole will get confused!' He laughed again. 

The shop suddenly became very quiet. He slowly wrapped the painting again and then placed it in the box. He had done this countless times for this very person. Every now and then he would glance at her. And every time he would find her staring intensely at him packing. He always wanted to tell her at this moment. And it was always the same. The story would be at the tip of his tongue. He would always just about want to say it out loud. But he became too nervous and his hands would always start shaking. And as always she would notice.

'Your hands are shaking. Pack that again properly!' She said in an emotionless voice. He always wondered whether she herself detected the many times she had said that same phrase.

He quickly packed the painting. And pushed it towards her. There was a moment of silence. They both heard a man walking towards the entrance of the shop. 

The door opened and they both looked towards the door. The man popped his head in through the door and looked at them both. 

The Grandad and the man made eye contact before the man nodded his head. 

The lady looked furious. 

'You always do this!' She screamed and walked away.

The Grandad's heart jolted at the word, always. 

She knew. She knew. She knows about the painting. Then why is she going back?

He ran towards the door and shouted her name whilst he watched her get inside the carriage.

She turned around and looked at him for a moment before saying, 'Its my home now father. I belong there.'

 

 

 

Wow, this is lovely. And so beautifully written... I actually read it all.

I thought it was a copy and paste job for sure. 

I totally agree, i read it all and it was SO nice, i was sure it was smething copy/pasted.

@Sbf: this story couldnt be more finished.

yup complete.

Needs its own blog.

(Was the box blue?)

Read it all too.

Thought it was copied & pasted too.

Thinks its amazing (and finished perfectly) too.

(So original, i know lol)...

Okay

1. I cringed at my username in the title lol

2. I would never ever copy and paste from something and stick it here without referencing. Rawrs you should know by now how much i love referencing every full stop you'll ever find anywhere.

3. I dont dare read the thing again. When I used to hand write stories, they used to be burnt straight after. But thank you for the compliments.

You wrote:

yup complete.

Needs its own blog.

(Was the box blue?)

Of course the box was blue.

You've just reminded me of the most amazing engagement ring box my friend showed me.

I'll have to show you guys when I figure out how to upload it here.