I am hiding from Christmas. So far I’ve managed not to hear any Christmas music this year, but mostly because I haven’t left the house. I used to work in retail, so I’ve gotten a lifetime dose of holiday crooning. It got to the point where I had to unplug the P.A. speaker in the back room where I worked, just so I wouldn’t commit Santacide. I had to quit; I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Let’s face it. Christmas is about one thing. Presents. What other holiday do you start planning for months in advance? (Unless you are some sort of Stepford anal craft nazi.) For the common folk like you and me, beyond some vague notion of spending time with the family (or avoiding them), we consider what we are doing on a holiday maybe a week or two before. Unless you have to fly, then you might buy go so far as to buy a plane ticket, because airline pricing schemes are based on the relative position of Venus in the sky. (Okay, maybe not, but can you explain them?) Ditto on hotels.
You don’t plan your outfit for Labour Day (other than not wearing white). You don’t send out cards for the Fourth of July. (Canada Day, Bastille Day, or whatever. Insert your local we beat the other guy memorial holiday here.) And you certainly don’t buy presents for your second cousin, twice removed just in case he buys you something for Halloween and you look like an ass if you don’t get him something.
People say I’m just being cynical, but I’m just speaking the truth that they don’t want to hear. If you want to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus, fine go ahead. Go sit in your
tax shelters churches and bore each other with stories of the first century reformist rabbi who probably never existed. Then go home and have cake with little crucifix candles on it. You don’t need a new television for that. The decorations, the food, everything about the holiday season is designed to get your butt in line at MalWart and spend more money than you can afford, just so mega-corporations can meet their fiscal end-year projections, and the company executives can cash their bonus checks.
So if you need me for any reason, I will be holed up in the zombie-proof compound until the panic dies down. Of course, I’ll have to stay here until until January, because the only thing worse than the pre-Christmas sales are the post-Christmas sales.
Also, I didn’t get you anything.