Hard to believe it’s already the 21st of December. I could make a cliche reference to how time was so slow as a kid and so fast now that I’m an adult, but everybody knows that and phrasing it cleverly won’t make it any more awe-striking.
Still, the holidays are an interesting time. And by interesting, I mean they’re hell frozen over for anybody with a drivers license. SUV’s merging without looking, little grandmas running their carts into your new Corvette without so much as an “I’m sorry sonny.” Ironically, the season that’s supposed to be a celebration to the man who died for the sins of humanity is one of the most sinful times of the year. Gluttony from all the holiday food (sloth also comes into the picture here, considering how you don’t want to move after all that turkey), lust for that one special super expensive item you probably won’t get unless you throw a temper tantrum, wrath to the piece of shit who took that last thingamajigger that your child wanted, greed because you’d rather buy for yourself while the holiday deals are going strong (guilty of this myself), envy to your cousin who actually got what you wanted while you got socks, and vanity because, gee, don’t you look great in that holiday snuggy and Rudolph pajamas.
The irony is rather delicious, actually. The greatest part is, most people don’t know where the traditions come from. They chop it all up to the christian belief. In reality, the Christmas tree and yule log are from pagan tradition. So to all those Jews who throw a fuss over the lack of a menorah in a public place, suck on that. This is why we can’t have nice things (no, I’m not implying that all Jews are like that. Don’t put words in my mouth).
So how have my holidays gone so far? Amusing, to say the least. I stood in the Wal-Mart return line for about 20 minutes because my dear sweet grandmother wanted to return a small carton of butter worth less than two whole US dollars. There’s a story for the kids. “Lil’ Jim, did I ever tell you about the time I stood in a line longer than your father’s ass crack because my grandma was a penny pincher who thought returning bad butter would stick it to a nation-wide company? No? Well you pretty much just got the whole thing.”
After we spent an hour trying to swerve past crotchety geezers who scoffed when I said ‘excuse me’ to get around them (also called ‘grocery shopping’), I told grandma to get in the car so I could pack everything up in the trunk. As I’m about done, a fat guy in a little van pulls up and come s____ this close to pushing me and the cart into the car. I hold up my hands in fear, a clearly expressive ‘oh shit’ look on my face, and he appears shocked. His wife is smiling, of course. I guess they were trying to back up into a parking space so their fat little necks wouldn’t have to try and turn to see the mirrors for backing out.
Great fun. There were a couple more things, but I honestly can’t think of them at the moment.
Merry Christmas (yeah, I said it) and happy holidays, guys.
|||||||||||||||||||| 