(Not too bad – I might have to rethink my position on this one.)
Driving home in the slow lane from Henry’s Marketplace yesterday, sun streaming in the window, when a big black SUV roars right up past me, screeches to a halt at the lights with a bright red rudolph nose smug on the tip of the hood, foam antlers wobbling on the windows.
Which got me thinking in a bah-humbuggy kinda way about the things I dislike about Christmas. Dislike, not hate. My mother always told me, “Hate’s a strong word!” So, OK, strongly dislike.
- Red Nosed Reindeer kits for cars. Just for that, I’m gonna make it number one on the list. An indignity to fine autmobiles everywhere, not to mention Santa’s hardest working reindeer. It’s like seeing a German Shepherd wearing bunny ears at Easter. And you just know the very together soccer mom peering over the steering wheel is wearing her favorite Christmas sweater and that she only has one item left to buy off her holiday shopping list.
- Christmas sweaters and jewellery. They say there are two kinds of women: Those who wear Christmas sweaters and those who don’t. I’m not saying anything bad about women who do; I know many who love wearing festive pullovers and I love them dearly (the women, not the sweaters). It’s just not my thing. Same goes for dangly tree earrings.
- Mormon-Tabernacle or big-band version Christmas carols like Silent Night or O Come All Ye Faithful playing in box stores like Costco and Target. There’s just something WRONG about an orchestral show of spirituality when all that matters to them is profit. Nothing wrong with profit, but it’s not nice using baby Jesus to sell it. Hearing Mary’s Boy Child for the millionth time must drive people of other faiths and agnostics insane.
- Those hear-from-them-once-a-year folks who take the trouble to send you Christmas cards but then only write “love, Jim, Barbie and the kids. XX” inside the card. Don’t know why this bugs me, except that I feel like a checkmark on their lists. Walshes? Check! Envelope, stamp it, in the Done pile! Write a line or two, send me a photocopied Christmas letter, a smiley face drawn by your kid, anything! Better yet, let me know how your world has changed over the past year.
- There are a few more but I’ll finish here: That awful Santa Baby song. Husky, doe-eyed, “Santa Baby … Slip a sable under the tree, for me …” Makes me feel like I’ve had three martinis and am about do a bad karaoke number on a table in stilletto heels and a too-short dress. And you always seem to hear it in the bakery or at the library — what’s with that? I have visions of Paris Hilton perched on Santa’s lap at the mall, and all the little kids waiting in line, wondering why she gets such a long turn. Apart from all the rings and baubles from Tiffany’s, this girl wants a yacht, a duplex, and the title to a platinum mine no less. She’d better have been awfully good. Eartha Kitt, Madonna, doesn’t matter who sings it; it weirds me out.
Five posts down; seven more sleeps ’til Christmas!