Scrooge?

I’m sure you all think you’ve figured out this next post. It’s T minus 3 days until Christmas and because my previous posts have reeked of an acerbic, smart-assed tone, it seems only right that I’m going to say how much I abhor Christmas and all its various manifestations. Well you are right…and wrong. I really don’t hate Christmas at all, on the contrary actually. I absolutely used to adore Christmas as a child. From the first Christmas commercials I saw to the requisite airing of “Miracle on 34th Street” on Thanksgiving Day, I was certifiably obsessed. Then as the holiday season moved on I became more and more intoxicated until on Christmas Day I was full-blown drunk-off-my-ass with holiday happiness. Then, unfortunately, on the 26th I would be hit with the worst Christmas binge hangover ever. My little heart would literally deflate like a shitty helium balloon and I would stare forlornly at the Christmas tree as if to say “Live it up O Tannenbaum…your ass is grass tomorrow.” Even at a young age, Christmas was a time in which I didn’t have to search for something to look forward to or be genuinely happy about. I was truly, madly giddy just because it was December (and the fact that I was about to be inundated by an avalanche of presents).

But now I realize that alarmingly I’ve become somewhat of a Scrooge, and that the dark feelings began to pour in after I turned 16. I still love Christmas but certain aspects of it make me want to slam my head into a brick wall then poke my eyes out with sharpened candy canes. Thus, I will attempt to convey through the next few days what I’ve come to both adore and abhor about Christmas before closing, as all proper holiday stories should, with a happy ending.