Stupid Christmas

I hate it. And it started like, two weeks ago. Not the hate—the holiday horseshit.

I don’t have kids, so I get to hate Christmas. I hate the hoopla, the expectations and at the risk of shamelessly echoing Linus Van Palt, I hate the commercialism. And the music. It’s everywhere. The nonsense is endless. I’m watching Rocky right now, at 10:40 on a Saturday night. Next they’re showing Rocky 2. They just called it a “holiday marathon.” I can’t get away! It’s freakin’ November 28th. I don’t want to play your reindeer games.

What I don’t mind are the Christmas lights on the houses. My block looks very festive (already). And I do love the briskness in the air this time of year… yes, 78 degrees is brisk, and kind of chilly. If my husband reads this he’ll find out I might surprise him with a tree. A tree in a house with no room. Whatever, I’ll rearrange some stuff. And I’ll decorate tree with real candy and Porsche trinkets. Wife of the year.