Walnuts, sugar, brickle, candy canes.
If anyone says those words, run and hide.
They’ve been possessed by an evil spirit.
The Christmas season did not used to be such a tense and fraught time of year. And it’s unfair blaming the retailers – they simply discovered that their customers would happily buy crap in huge quantities during the last two weeks before the holiday; unwellchosen gifts and expensive fripp being exchanged, then angrily returned as unsuitable.
Why? Because auntie Pooh-Pooh in Long Beach gets all despondent if she doesn’t receive trinkets and costume jewelry from all of her little nephews and nieces. She’s given up on their parents, as they simply send another subscription to a magazine she never reads, and a fruitbasket with a champagne bottle sticking out of the centre.
If she had anyone to dance with on New Year’s Eve she’d drink it, but after ten o’clock uncle Walter simply dozes in the bingo room at the old folks home that they live in. The nurse will come by and quietly remove the stogey from his clenched arthritic grasp, as the other retirees one by one fall asleep and drool. The nurse puts the teevee on low volume so that the ball descending at midnight won’t wake the somnolent ones.
Did I mention that appalling woman who always brings your mom oranges? Yep, gotta get her something too. Because even though you can’t stand oranges by now (force of association), you have to show your appreciation. She’ll then pinch your cheek and say “my, how you’ve grown! Gonna get married soon!”
No, you have no plans to get hitched at any time in the near-future. There’s more to life than domestic disharmony. Wild illicit passion with a mysterious stranger, maybe. The things is, you have options.
But you aren’t planning to tell her that. She’d think you queer if you did.
Instead you buy her an extra tight Christmas sweater.
So she can flaunt her boobies.
In all modesty.
Giving gifts feels good, but being forced to do so is an imposition.
Most men simply want a sixpack of beer, women crave jewelry, and kids beg for electronic devices.
Why doesn’t anybody just settle for socks?
[This blogger is easy to shop for. A candy bar wrapped in a pair of panties.
It's what I've always wanted. Now, what would YOU like?]
Christmas is the most irritating time of year, and holiday shopping totally blows!
Fruitcake. Moist. Pink Champagne. Bûche de Noël .
Gingerbread santas and reindeer cookies.
Peanut butter caramel fudge bars.
Triple mint marble suckers.
SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!
AAAAAAAAURGH!
FX!KXMAS!
You have NO intention of reading or watching Charles Dickens' saccharine fable again. It stank the first time, it has become more torturous with each telling. And Frosty the Snowman should melt.
Instead, you’ll find somewhere private to read that history atlas you have, and dream fondly of Huns despoiling Eastern Europe, or the Ashanti Empire before the Europeans ruined everything in Africa. The division of Charlemagne’s realm, and the sweep of plagues across the known world.
A nice quiet place, where Christmas is faint.
I don’t know about you, but I intend to be home by late afternoon everyday between Christmas Eve and new year.
No returns, no after Christmas sales, and no clearance bargain frenzies.
At peace, having a good read, with a pipefull or two.
Quiet, restful, and positively no stress.
Please drop by with your books.
Hide out, and unwind.
Have a cup of tea.
It's sanctuary.
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NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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