Sunday, December 18, 2011


You’ve had enough of the season. Screw it. It's not even Christmas yet, and the pressure is more than you can bear. More, actually, than you wish to take.
You're not even sure what it's all about anyway.

The story is that on December 25th. two thousand years ago some fat guy wearing red saw a star in the sky and squoze his lard-ass down a chimney somewhere in Germany.
Since then there has been war in the Middle-East, and little white kids get presents.
It’s all rather confusing and silly.

Your cousins and siblings have bought into the whole thing.
And because they have, you’ve felt pressure to buy them stuff too.
Knowing that in the first two days after Christmas ALL of you will be down at Macys trying to return stuff that isn’t your size, would look horrible on you, and makes your skin itch.

All you want is the roast duck and that lovely charsiu.
Avoid the overdone turkey, ignore the stuffing.
Pass the rice, and all of you, shut up!

Everywhere you go, you hear horrible, HORRIBLE! music.

What you need, my dear, is a quiet afternoon at my place.

Just kick off your shoes, get under the blankets – make sure that you’re fully covered for maximum toasty – and let me bring you a nice hot cup of warm milk (with honey). Here’s a volume of Calvin and Hobbes to read.
There won’t be any horrid Christmas music. Nor any nasty smells of pine-sprayed wreaths, scented candles with almond, cinnamon, and cloves, fake bakery odours, overly sweet candy aromas. Just a faint whisp of pipe tobacco from the other room, where I will be reading my own book.
Enjoy the silence, and feel free to doze.
I’ll wake you up later and we’ll go have a snack.

You’ll get home at a reasonable hour, and you can tell everyone that you were out shopping.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

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