I’m a big fan of Christmas. If I could find one of those Number One fingers and write “FOR CHRISTMAS,” on it, I would. THAT is how much I love Christmas.
Sure, it’s going to be weird this year. Got some familial drama that I cannot (apparently) speak of here, that’s got me a wee bit nervous, but I push on through.
I still get all misty-eyed when I see decorations up, and there’s frankly nothing like a good version of “Blue Christmas” to get me solidly in the mood for some festive motherfucking cheer.
You think I’m being sarcastic, but I’m not.
I’m old now. I may get tearful whenever my Christmas tree is turned on (bear in mind it’s been up since LAST Christmas, which reminds me of that awful Wham! song, which is NOT something that makes Baby Jesus OR Your Aunt Becky smile), and I may wrap each present happily, open each Christmas card guiltily, but you know what?
I can never think of anything I want for Christmas.
Now I know what you’re saying, “Aunt Becky, Christmas – and Trix – are for kids. You don’t need any presents.”
And, o! Pranksters, my Pranksters, you would, indeed be correct. It’s a lean Christmas here at Casa de la Vodka, but the kids, well, they still have a butt-ton of small gifts to open. According to The Twitter, whom I trust implicitly, kids under ten prefer a fuck-ton of small things rather than one big present. So I have a ridiculous amount of tiny PlayDoh things to wrap.
When I’m asked, “Hey, what do you want for Christmas?” my mind goes blank. Don’t mistake me, I’m not one of those people who are all *waves hands dismissively* “Oh, give my gift to charity,” because, well, I like presents. A lot.
Problem is, I never know what the fuckballs I want. When asked, that is. It’s like my mind, normally filled with pictures of ponies and/or unicorns on roller skates, immediately empties and I’m stuck muttering the first few things that come out:
“Barbie Dream House.”
“Shark on Roller Skates.”
And the asker is left quizzically scratching his or her befuddled head, wondering if I have, at last, gone off my rocker.
Since I already HAVE a pony on Roller Skates:
I no longer need one.
Nor do I need anything else that I can think of on command. I tried, the other day, to create an Amazon wish-list. All the cool bloggers are doing it, so I figured THAT would be a great place to point family members to buy gifts for me.
I have two things on it.
Apparently, I suck at life AND picking out gifts for myself.
But this morning, the heavens opened up and smiled down upon me. A good friend, who shall remain nameless because, well, I do not have a proper email address or name to thank this wonderful friend, sent me something. Something so incredible that I may never stop weeping with joy.
Something I want, nay NEED, for Christmas.
Behold, my Pranksters, and share in my joy.
If you think the 3-Wolf Moon PJ’s aren’t awesome enough, just read the description:
Frankly, I do not think that, once I own these, I will ever, EVER need to own another item of clothing in my life.
So WHAT if I find adult footie pajamas to be creepy? So what if I cannot imagine sleeping with cuffs around my feet again? I CAN TAKE A SHIT WHILE WEARING THEM.
THOSE ARE EPIC FUCKING PAJAMAS.
And *shakes fist at sky dramatically* they WILL BE MINE.