Chick Writes Stuff

Sorry, guys, but brace yourselves. I am about to Pollyanna-out on all of you.

Maybe it’s because it’s my baby’s first Christmas or maybe it’s because I’m getting soft in my old age, but whatever the reason is, I am all about Christmas this year. I mean, I am downright excreting Christmas spirit out of my goddamn freaking pores.

I have to admit, it’s a nice change of pace. Last year I was super pregnant during the holidays, which naturally made me want to stab everyone in the face with a candy cane whenever I left the safe confines of my house.

And the year before that, well, I don’t exactly remember since all the electricity in my brain is currently being sucked up by the part that alerts me that my baby is trying to kill himself AGAIN by chewing on the cable cord. But I’m sure I was grouchy because the days leading up to Christmas are chaotic and crowded and my liquor store always runs out of the gallon-sized, industrial-strength eggnog I use as my holiday crutch.

But this year? I have Christmas music on constant rotation. I put up ALL the Christmas decorations, instead of just enough so that it wasn’t sad. I bought the good wrapping paper, instead of the $1.99 crap that is made from ancient cobwebs and glitter and falls apart if you happen to breathe too close to it.

And I’ve already bought most of my gifts instead of waiting until December 23, where I will inevitably sprain my eyeballs from all the eye-rolling I will do while waiting in the world’s largest line because the store thinks having one cash register open is a swell idea two days before Christmas.

But most amazing of all, I’m actually being nice. To STRANGERS. Stupid, dumb, ugly strangers who I normally hate. But now? It’s all opening doors for them and “oh no, after you,” and even “why no, those neon hot pink skintight leggings aren’t permanently ruining my eyesight at all.”

I don’t know if it will last. If next year, or even next week, I’ll regress back to my old “bah-humbug” ways. But I hope not. Because this whole “seeing the gallon of eggnog half-full” thing is actually kind of…wonderful.

I mean, do you know what this time of year would be without Christmas? It would just be “oh, hey everyone, winter has started and it’s going to suck so hard for the next four months.”

And with Christmas, instead of being depressed that night now starts at 3:30 p.m., you get “oh hey, we just finished lunch and it’s already dark enough to turn on the Christmas tree!” And instead of being miserable because you’re cold, you get to warm up the house with the baking of cookies and the cooking of giant hams that are bigger than your toddler (and then the eating of all the giant ham all in one sitting because calories don’t count in December). Not to mention, it’s the only time of the year where it’s socially acceptable to punch the person who brought the “healthy” cookies into work to share (ahem…Susan). And while you may think you’re sick of all that Christmas music, just keep in mind that Christmas is the temporary dam that keeps the Taylor Swift tidal wave at bay for a few weeks.

Christmas makes snow magical, instead of “the demon powder that makes me late to work” that it becomes in January. Christmas transforms decades-old bad animation into beloved holiday classics you actually look forward to watching. And most importantly, Christmas changes going to the liquor store at 9 a.m. on a Saturday for seventeen bottles of wine from “pathetic” to “totally understandable and necessary purchases.”

Not that Christmas doesn’t have its downsides. The mindless consumerism, the deep pit of debt, the never-ending flood of Facebook photos of that elf pooping Hershey kisses on top of cookies. Not to mention, all those helpful people who keep ruining “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” by pointing out how rape-y it is.

But for all our bitching about the holiday season, the world would be a much darker place, quite literally, without Christmas. So I, for one, plan to soak up as much Christmas magic as I can.

Before January comes and slowly strangles all our souls with its cold, dead hands.