As a general rule I really dislike Christmas.
Christmas on television is always portrayed as being inside a snow globe, inevitably each Christmas morning it snows and everyone realises the meaning of life and forgives everyone their sins and hug each other. Here, it’s hotter than the inside of a torture chamber in hell, a zillion percent humidity and quite often mixed with a torrential downpour. Not very inspiring to world peace and all that. Also, all the storylines are preachy and moralistic and being that nice and caring would go down as well as battery acid to most people.
Christmas music is vulgar. Songs about Santa and sleighs and that awful, awful, AWFUL song about the guy who gave his heart to a bitchy ex play on a ridiculous never-ending loop and make me want to Van Gogh myself.
People rushing to the shops at the last minute to buy presents for their relatives and offspring annoy me too, usually because all I want is to get some damn toothpaste or toilet paper, some mundane boring necessity that I require immediately. I have to spend 200 years trawling for a carpark, then I have to fight my way inside the shops through a sea of marauding bargain hunters like I’m the only person left alive in a zombie invasion, grab my mundane necessities and have to spend another 100 years waiting in line to pay for said items while people’s bastard children spill things, rub their chocolate smeared hands on stuff and scream the house down, while their parents gab on their phones about superficial garbage and elbow people out of the way left, right and centre or run them with their trolleys if you have the temerity to get in the way of their shopping, using the holidays as an excuse to let their kids turn into psychotic monsters, only then to themselves turn into a mutant version of Godzilla if you happen to look at an item they were sizing up, suggest they develop some manners when they run over you or heaven forbid, tell their child to stop being a little shit.
In the meantime of course, my teeth are feeling furry and I probably need to pee.
Then there’s the whole family togetherness thing. I actually like the whole family gathering part of Christmas, when I lived away that was the only time I really got to see most of them. I actually even like my family. We’re all mental, so it makes for an interesting time, particularly given that in my extended family of, I can’t count that high, let’s just say lots, none of us are particularly mature and are all big fat children, which is the only reason I’ve ever liked Christmas.
Now that I’m supposed to be an adult because I’m married and all that, I have to share my juvenile Christmas with my husband’s family, who of course are not delinquents. He, naturally, IS a delinquent and will spend most of Christmas trying to fart on my brothers, which delights me to no end. The two families of course, do not mix.
And let’s not forget the whole present thing – I really get the shits when people ask why my husband and I don’t do Christmas for each other, as though we’re horrible people who secretly hate each other. He’s only interested in three things; guitars, video games and cars. I don’t know shit about guitars, except that we have 10 of them, we both love games and we buy them whenever we want to and last year we spent a small fortune on an Evo. I suppose I could get him a matchbox RX-7, but my mother already did that one year. I’m interested in bikes and books, neither of which he knows anything about, apart from that I have too many of both and he’s sick of tripping over them. So really, what’s the point?
I feel fake telling people to have a ‘Merry Christmas’. Merry is not a word I usually use in my vocabulary unless I’m discussing Lord of the Rings and I resent the implied obligation to tell every Tom, Dick and Harriet I interact with the week beforehand to have one.
Basically, I’m just a mean bitch and can’t swallow the enforced sugar of ‘Christmas spirit’ (if it’s spirits in a bottle however, I’m all over it) and I hate the way it turns ordinary people into crazy zombies.
