Have a Zantac Candy Cane
Everyone I have spoken to this month has asked me if I’m “ready for Christmas.” I don’t understand what that means. Why do people give themselves so much to do this month that it all becomes one big endorsement for lobotomies? Calm down, people! Nobody cares if you didn’t get your giant, inflatable Peanuts-character-themed nativity scene on the lawn. Next July you won’t be sitting around mourning the fact that you gave people in the neighborhood the exact same wassail mix as Judy down the street (curse her eyes!). As you lie on your deathbed, surrounded by family, you’re not going to be thinking, “Oh, if only I had been able to find that glass reindeer ornament I searched for my whole life!” And if that is the thought you take with you as you depart this mortal life, you can take comfort in knowing that the world will not be made worse by your passing.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Christmas decorations and giving gifts and all that. But I don’t see why those things are such a focal point of the season. I’m not one to talk about the “true meaning” of things, but I feel reasonably confident in the assertion that the true meaning of the season has little to do with icicle lights and four-hour sales events (today only!).