Yea, that’s right. I’m that grinch at every gathering, the one who wears a frowny face when the caroling starts, who screams like a banshee when the holiday music comes on, the one who drinks the holiday cheer away. Friends: I hate Christmas.
See, I like lights and tinsel and some of that frou frou shit. I love me a peppermint moch-whatever-cino. Add some schnapps in that baby and I am rip roaring to go. Hell, I even like hanging out with my family, an event which consists of at least five dogs, a hoard of drunk southerners, and someone breaking out “Jingle Cats.” But good lord, past all that, the holidays wear me thin and wear me out. I do not wish you a merryhappychristmaholiday whatever. I do not carol. I do not wear sweaters — not even ironically. Hell, even if you don’t celebrate Christmas, Christmas is there, haunting your every move. Christmas is like that guy at the bar who bought you a drink and won’t LEAVE YOU THE FUCK ALONE. I GET IT, CHRISTMAS, THANKS FOR BEING HERE, BUT I DON’T CARE. But Christmas doesn’t care. Christmas thinks the world owes it a dick sucking just because it exists. Christmas is an asshole and the worst part of Christmas? It ain’t going nowhere.
There’s not much to do for the month other then grin and bear it till about January 3rd. I take a deep sigh when I hear Mariah Carey’s “First Noel” for the 80th time, saving my eye rolls and wincing for the heavier stuff like the “Baby it’s Cold Outside ” debates (as our girl Slay will tell you all about).
So kitten doodle — how do you deal with the holidays? Let me know after you watch this spectacular example of what I was subjected to all throughout my childhood…