Christmas! The holly-jolly season of joy, cheer, and slowly losing all grip on reality as retail jingles drill directly into your cortex. “Most Wonderful Time of the Year” plays on loop while you develop mall PTSD and wonder how wrapping paper suddenly costs more than rent.
Every commercial wants you to buy a luxury SUV with a bow on
it. A bow. Like someone woke up on Christmas morning and said, “Honey, I
thought socks, a book, and seasonal depression weren’t enough … so I bought you
a car we can’t afford.”
Also, the lights. The lights. I plug in one string
and my house blows a fuse like it’s trying to protect me from holiday optimism.
The neighbor’s display syncs to Trans-Siberian Orchestra and can be seen from
space; mine flickers like a sad interrogation lamp.
And the decorating pressure! If a single pine needle falls,
someone on Instagram will whisper, “Do they even love Christmas?” Yes, I love
Christmas … I’m just losing a silent war with Scotch tape and ribbon
that behaves like it has free will.
Meanwhile, Christmas cookies magically become currency. We
trade them like sugary NFTs of seasonal affection. Here is a tin of baked
love. Cherish it until New Year’s, when we transfer our emotional burdens to
gym memberships.
But ultimately, it’s magical, right? We sit by the glow of tree lights, sip cocoa, and ignore receipts like they can’t hurt us if we don’t look directly at them.
Merry Christmas.
May your gift receipts be long and your tree water not smell like swamp soup by December 26th.
________________________
In my family, we celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah, which basically means December is a festive emotional obstacle course with twice the candles, twice the carbs, and enough decorative lighting to make the neighbors question whether we're trying to signal passing aircraft. It’s chaotic. It’s beautiful. It’s glitter, menorah wax, and cookie crumbs everywhere. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment