Jingle Bells, Pit Sweat Smells
In my most southern drawl let me ask, Are y’all ready for Christmas? Well I sure am! On December the 1st my family enters what my husband calls “the Christmas zone.” Christmas is everywhere. There are Christmas decorations in the house, Christmas movies on the TV, and Christmas music in the car. There is no escape. You want to listen to regular radio? To bad. You’ll have to wait until December 26th. Those are the rules and you can’t change them until you get your own house. Every moment of December is meticulously planned with the most magical memories imaginable. So there.
I work my best under intense amounts of pressure, so every year my husband and I go on an enormous last minute shopping trip. We don’t get as many dates as we would like so this day is a really big deal. The fact that we are Christmas shopping just adds to the insane amount of pressure of this trip. This blog my friends, is an account of the annual seasonal activity that is harvested straight from the depths of the underworld. Enjoy.
It starts out beautiful. We get all ready and we are looking G-O-O-D. It is like The Buckle has vomited all over us. I’m cute, he’s cute. Not only are we adorable, we are in loooooooooove. He is so handsome and hilarious. How did I get so lucky? My face hurts from smiling so darn hard. I just can’t get enough of his preciousness and I wish every day was filled with this Christmas magic. His radiant beard is wondrous and it blows in the wind in slow motion. Oh look….a white dove just landed on his shoulder.
We take our fine selves to a restaurant that doesn’t have a playground. While we eat we begin to make our list. Wow. That’s a heck of a list……that is a bunch of stuff…..and that is a bunch of money. Isn’t the mortgage do this week? Oh well. We live on love. It will work itself out. To the mall we go.
The mall. It really makes you wonder about the recession doesn’t it? We can barely find a parking place. As we enter the doors, it is Christmas sensory overload, a family passes by and the children are crying from the shock of having to sit in a fat strangers lap to get their pictures made. Their little sticky faces are all red and their hair is stuck in their snot. I look at honey and he looks at me. It’s still the look of love. Our precious angels are at home with the grands. We are holding hands and enjoying our fabulousness and we wink at the screaming children’s worn out mother and whisper, “well that is just precious.”
The first few stores are fine. But we quickly realize we have grotesquely underestimated our task. I’m kinda like my Daddy when it comes to Christmas shopping. I love the kiosks. I want to hit every one and the salesmen will read me for the sucker that I am. Now, I think that y’all know I’m never over the top, but after buying splatting bouncey balls and hovering helicopters from the Indian dudes at the kiosks, neither of which are on our list, I start feeling the urge to buy some sort of animal. I don’t know why. It just comes over me. Before I know it I am convinced Christmas won’t be the magical, beautiful, memorable, wonderfulness, if we don’t have a puppy or a kitten with a big red bow around its neck under the tree. OOOh, or both! Here’s where we start loosing that loving feeling.
It’s hot in the mall and after standing in all those lines, we begin to sweat profusely. This adds to the building agitation. We are no longer holding hands. Hmmmph. What does he know about making Christmas memories? He thinks he is ssoooooo good looking with those brown eyes, and awesome beard. If one more person says he has a great beard I might just throw up. They wouldn’t think he was all that great if they knew he just refused to buy our precious children a puppy and a kitten for Christmas. We have spent $200 dollars on crap from the Indians and we have only crossed two things off our list. We can’t find many of the items we are desperately searching for. We are going to have to go to Walmart. Jesus take the wheel.
They say it ain’t Christmas till somebody’s crying and it’s usually Walmart where I completely loose it. Here I am stuck in a marriage with a man who hates Christmas. I can’t believe he isn’t caving in to my absurd demands. The tears start to flow and I rub my eyes. I’m looking at him and he is looking at me and my fake eyelashes are stuck to my cheeks. He starts to giggle. I start to giggle. We stand in front of the legos, a sweaty mess, laughing our heads off like stark raving lunatics. We grab a cherry Icee and head to the house to stand under the mistletoe. After all, we have a baby sitter all night.
This has been going on for fourteen years my friends, and I wouldn’t change one single detail.