I was writing a note to Leslie, who asked an innocent question — “how are you?” That question started me thinking. How AM I? The answer is that I’m SO not into Christmas, and SO tired of being inundated with things that I should be doing. And then I started on a rant that I thought was more fitting if shared with the readership of this blog (all two of you).
For example, I should have made a Christmas list. In fact, I should have done that a month ago. Oh well. I also should have sent Christmas cards. Maybe next week. I should find a way to be less annoyed by the holiday croonings of certain recording artists who arguably shouldn’t be singing outside of their shower stalls, much less bastardizing holiday favorites. And I should get on board with finding joy in Toys R Us, and even being able to walk through there without wanting to drop-kick the first whiny toddler in my path. But, because I don’t think I can handle stifling that urge, I should stay the hell away from toy stores.
Because I’m ensconced in Scroogery, which comes with a healthy dose of assholishness, I need to find a way to make this easy for myself. So, here we go.
1. I’m keeping gifts to a minimum. This includes my parents. They’ve long since stopped giving me gifts, and they hate whatever I give them. They only want pictures of me and my godchildren anyway, so I’ll spend the $20 and make them a photo album. Problem solved.
2. Of the girlfriends that I plan to exchange gifts with, some of them have children. If you are one of those girlfriends, please know that I will not be exchanging gifts with your children. My relationship is with you. I am not trying to slight your children. Your kids are already spoiled, and have no need for any of the clothing or toys that I would buy them (which I wouldn’t be able to do without having a nervous breakdown in the Target toy department or even worse, Toys R Us [gasp!]).
2a. If you are one of the mothers of my godchildren, ignore #2. You’re getting the shaft, big time. The kids get everything.
3. I will drink profusely at Christmas parties. I’m just letting you know. And God only knows what will come out of my mouth.
4. And speaking of my mouth, I will not yield to mistletoe. If you have to dangle mistletoe in the faces of [drunk] women, you probably have low chances of getting kissed in sobriety. Beat it!
5. I will not eat nasty food. If I come to your house, I will not humor Auntie Edith by choking down a piece of her infamous gas-inducing cabbage souffle, or fruitcake. Especially fruitcake. Do yourself a favor and follow suit. Let me give you a rule of thumb . . . if that old biddy hasn’t cooked anything delicious in 75 years, it ain’t happenin’ this year.
That’s it for now. I’m sure I’ll think of more. This is actually kind of fun. Thanks, Leslie! 
