I am a Scrooge. Bah, humbug and all that. I dont put up a tree or make cookies or send out cards or drink eggnog. And I didnt really want to write about Christmas this week, but Im going to anyway.
You see, I hate Christmas. And yes, Im shallow, so it has a great deal to do with the stuff Ive never gotten but have so sorely deserved. I work my fingers to the bone trying to make people happy and all I get are stupid joke of the day desk calendars and the occasional tube of chapstick. Where, I ask you, are the furs, the diamonds, the Gucci handbags? Thats what I really want.
Okay, Im joking. I would never wear fur.
But I still have bad feelings toward Christmas.
Today I was reminded of a story. It has no bearing on anything, but Im going to tell it anyway. There was a time when I, a girl whose favorite colors are still pink and purple and who likes to watch Lifetime television for women, was less girly. It was very early on, but I wore little elastic-waisted pants and pig tails and my favorite thing to do was climb trees in our backyard.
Even then, I wasnt very agile, so I would wrap my little arms around the trunk and slowly inch my way up the tree. In the process I ripped probably every pair of pants I owned. But this story centers on a pair of emerald green sweat pants that ripped conveniently on the back seam, down near the bottom. Jeans, you see, could be patched with a similarly colored piece of denim. But green cotton? My mother said she would never find a color close enough to match; the pants had been washed too many times.
Instead she proposed a iron-on patch. Of a huge green frog.
She ironed it on there, too. No matter how much I begged and I pleaded, she thought it would be cute. And I never wore those pants again.
I simply refused to have a cartoon amphibian smack dab in the center of my ass (of course back then I used the word behind, but the point is still the same), metaphorically ribbiting every time I took a step. Oh, no.
I really just wanted to tell that story, but I think it illustrates how my mother and I dont quite see eye to eye on fashion. And that its amazing what parents will do to their children ... make them wear frogs on their butt, not let them watch MTV, name them something like Hubert and so on.
Unfortunately for Santas at my household, ever since I for went climbing trees to save my pants, Ive been pretty much fashion obsessed. Clothes are all I ever want, but its a hard thing to buy for someone. Theyre not there to try it on. They might not like the color. For that matter, they might not like the collar. There are just too many variables with fashion... and I think, and its just a hunch, some of the items Ive received in the past, well, they are things Ive wanted but that have been edited according to the givers tastes.
My brother totally got the better end of the bargain; every year hes asked for a new playstation-like device or some sort of high tech computer game. There are very few variables there.
I know I would like Christmas more were I filled with the holiday spirit: its all about giving, not getting; its the thought that counts, etc. Honestly, I love giving stuff, but sometimes when I get, I have to wonder, what thought was this?
At any rate, this year Im going to try to be more Christmassy, maybe sing a few carols, figure out what a yule log is. And if I dont get what I want? Ill just go buy it myself at the after Christmas sales.