What if I don’t want to Jingle all the Way?
Don’t get me wrong–I have nothing against Christmas. It’s perfectly fine. A holly jolly hell of a good time, I guess. But… what if… I just don’t want to do it this year? What if I don’t want to deck the halls? What if I don’t want to haul out the holly, or kiss under the mistletoe, or catch mommy kidding Santa Claus…. I swear I’m going somewhere less weird with this.
I’ll admit it, I’ve never been the type to pull out the holiday decorations as soon as the sun sets on Halloween. I avoid listening to Christmas music outside of Christmas day itself. I don’t particularly revel in putting up lights, or dealing with tons of family, or tree-themed everything.
Having kids turned that around for me, at least a little. It’s easier to get caught up in the holiday spirit (and I don’t mean the kind that’s stashed in the liquor cabinet) when you’ve got little ones around, believing in all the magic, tinsel, and that a rather large man can squeeze down the chimney without getting stuck. Even if you’re the biggest Hum Bugger around, it’s hard not to feel some sense of childhood nostalgia come Christmas morning, watching your kids open presents to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”.
I dare say I even started looking forward to it. Why be a hater, right? Why poop on something that gives so many other people you care about great joy? Fill the f’ing stockings and get over yourself! Don’t be a half-assed jingler. If you’re gonna jingle, jingle ALL THE WAY.
I know it’s only mid-November, but Christmas shit has been out since before Halloween and the music is already taking over the stations, and most of my family has all of their trees up and I… just don’t wanna. I feel as though the Christmas spirit in me is broken. Like everyone else got the goddamn update and my systems have crashed.
Error 404: Christmas does not compute.
All I want to do is crawl into a giant pile of Thanksgiving mashed potatoes and not emerge until 2018. It’ll be like I’m a butterfly, only more starchy and covered in gravy.
No part of me wants to yank out the giant Tupperware containers full of Christmas crap and argue with my kids about placement of the ornaments on the trees, or who gets to hide the magic pickle (answer: NEITHER OF THEM. THAT THING IS WORTH MONEY).
Not a single bone in my body wants to listen to family complain as I ceremoniously and triumphantly steal the best gift during the “Dirty Santa” Christmas gift game.
No, I don’t want to spend time sweating over the fucking stove to bake some kind of amazing dessert, only to have to take it home because my family always makes too many desserts and NO ONE EVER EATS MINE, so I get zero praise for my efforts. YES I REQUIRE PRAISE.
I don’t want to have to elbow people through the aisles of Toys R Us and Target because I never, ever go Christmas shopping early. And I really don’t want to have to pay for the shipping online, or order a bunch of crap I don’t really need just to qualify for free shipping.
I don’t want to have to reorganize my house to make room for red and green trinkets, only to have to put them back again in a month.
As I was thinking of all the things I didn’t want to do, something occurred to me. Like an early Christmas gift–and as grumpy as I am–I’m always open to gifts. All these things that I dread, all the work, all the bitching about hiding the pickles, and stealing the gifts, and sweating over pies no one eats, and elbowing my ways through the aisles of Target while the radio blares “Jingle Bells” are actually things I sort of enjoy. My Grinchy holiday traditions. They happen every year, without fail, and so much so that I have stories to tell about them. I can’t stand it, yet somehow, all of these things I loathe are my Christmas fuel. I kinda feel like the Grinch himself–so motivated to sabotage Christmas only to find some weird, twisted love for it underneath all the bitterness.
I AM THE CHRISTMAS GROUCH. My joy lies in complaining and dragging my feet, and a general sense of humbuggery. I revel in it.
So I guess I am in the Christmas spirit after all, just not the way I expected.
Find your joy, y’all. Even if it’s in putting coal in people’s stockings. BE MERRY-ISH!
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