I admit freely that I love the holidays. It’s been well documented over the years, especially with the hugemongous collection of Christmas decorations that I acquire year after year (it’s threatening to take over my basement). It’s entirely likely that I will decorate the interior of my home prior to Thanksgiving, partially because I love the festive look but mainly because I have nothing else to decorate with.
Christmas shopping is one of the ultimate highlights of the holiday season, because nearly as much as I adore my (literally) 60’s white aluminium tree (admit it, you’re jealous of my awesome tree) and it’s festive blue ornaments, I love buying other people gifts. And then painstakingly wrapping them, and carefully arranging them under the tree. It’s like my own slice of cornball (mmmm, CORNBALLS) heaven.
I say bring on the blaring music from all of the speakers in each store, shit, I listen to Christmas music year round, if I’m alone (I’m slightly too ashamed to do this in front of my husband, who prefers whiny emo music BECAUSE HE LIKES TO FEEL SUICIDAL). I’m thrilled that Christmas preparations begin in the store sometime prior to Halloween, partially so that I can remember what season it is, and partially because Alex is entranced by all of the lights and colors, while Ben is thrilled to pieces about the upcoming holidays (whew, can we say RUN ON SENTENCE, KIDS? I know *I* can!). It’s instant Christmas-porn for my family, save, of course, from my darling husband who “didn’t like Christmas” before he met me. Now, I’m pretty sure, he’s mainly tolerating it for my sake (entirely similar to the manner in which I “tolerate” the piles of clean clothes that make their home on the floor, rather than snugly put away in their dressers. Oh, SNAP!).
Off the top of my head, there is only ONE thing, one LITTLE thing that drives me insane around the holidays: hokey jewelry commercials. Watching them is like listening to nails on a chalkboard WHILE stepping on a mad cat. They set my teeth on edge and make me break out into a cold sweat.
I promise it’s not that I’m jealous of the jewelry and am therefore upset and embittered that I am not about to recieve anything from their stores for Christmas, no way. The jewelry that I do wear (save from a few junky costume pieces) and recieve is from places that do not feel the need to advertise in places other than The New Yorker. Besides, from the looks of these commercials the vacant eyed looks on their faces of the people coupled with a collective IQ of about 94, I would never WANT to be like them.
I’m not sure WHY these commercials drive me straight to my bottle of vodka, truth be told. It’s not as though all of the other extremely contrived and corny commercials elicit the same visceral response from me, and they are no more or less hokey.
Maybe it’s because my marriage is not particularly artificial or wholesome, I’m more likely to be called “dude” or “ass” by my husband than “honey” or “sweetheart,” and I prefer it that way. Our way of showing affection is less “here honey, a piece of jewelry from that commercial” while we sit by a roaring fire discussing our feelings (while we both have great hair), and more an ass-smack while we allow the other one to eat the piece of pizza we’ve been coveting, while arguing about who was going to comfort the baby THIS time.
We’re absolutely the boring Part II of the romance that once was (one really MIGHT argue that we bypassed Part I entirely. It’s probably the case here), the part where we both get all boring and comfortable and pluck stray hairs from each other’s faces while complimenting each other on our burping prowess, but that doesn’t diminish our relationship one teeny bit. I mean hell, if someone can watch you expell a nearly eight pound child from your va-jay-jay and about a half an hour later confess that he’s dying to Have The Sex with you again, I’d call that love. Or stupidity. But I’ll go with love here.
Conversely, if he showed up on Christmas morning with a gift bag from the commercials and a vacant, wide-eyed look on his face, and said something schmaltzy, I’d wonder 1) if aliens had abducted him or 2) if he was having an affair. In the case of 1) I’d have him clean up his office as a test and if he did it without turning into the girl from The Exorcist, I’d keep him as a bonus CLEANING alien! We’d ALL win! If the cause for the jewelry was 2), I’d be inflammed that he hadn’t at least gone to Tiffany’s and instead, had cheaped out on me.
Hey, a girl’s gotta have her priorities.
So what annoys YOU about the holidays, Darling Internet?