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Christmas, My Ass

Christmas, My Ass

Tags: humor

Christmas. Twinkly lights. Bright colored wrapping paper. Curly-Que ribbons. A tree taking up valuable space in your living room. Now, because of greed and sucker marketing, it lasts for two months instead of one.

I hate this time of year. I also hate Thanksgiving, birthdays, weddings and funerals. Usually, anything involving people.

I know. Hard to believe I’ve been married to the same person for 48 years and that my family still talks to me. However, I have a theory about that. It’s called the ATM Factor. Especially this time of year.

“Honey, can you transfer more funds into the checking account?”

“Uhhhh… why?”

“Because I have more Christmas gifts to buy.”

I look over at the tree. The gifts are piled four feet high all around the tree and stretch along one wall, tapering off at the fireplace. Not that I counted, but only two were marked for me.

“How could you possibly have anything more to buy?”

“I’m still getting things for our extended family.”

“What extended? My arms are only so long! Who are we talking about?”

“One of your nieces wants a laptop and the other wants a flatscreen TV. Your nephew lost his job so I’m just sending him money and I need to send a gift to your sister’s best friends mother.”

“Wh… wh… what? Excuse me? Who is she again?”

“You remember… that time when you were sick and she called to ask how you were.”

“So send her some bullion cubes and a get well card!”

“Oh, and American Express called and wanted to know if you needed your credit line increased.”

“WTF! What the hell did you buy?”

“Sit down honey, your left eye is rolling around funny. I was going to tell you. Do you remember my boyfriend from high school? Well, I remembered he liked Elvis and I found the Elvis at Graceland Christmas album. Only two left in the world."

By now, my left eye had rolled all the way around in my head and I swear I could see my brain shorting out. The best gift I ever got at Christmas as a boy was a manual wind plastic record player and a 45 rpm Burl Ives record.

“I can’t breathe. If you buy any more gifts I will die.”

“Oh stop being a drama queen. We go through this every year. Why can’t you just be happy for all the joy you are giving?”

“Oh yeah. Those two gifts for me under the tree balance things out!”

“It isn’t about receiving. It’s about the giving.”

“Who said that? Oh, I know. The fricken people receiving!”

“By the way, I told the kids we’d do Christmas dinner at our house this year, so we need a new dining room set and I want to get the sofa reupholstered.”

At this point, I was wondering if it wouldn’t be cheaper to burn the house down and live off the kindness of strangers. Of course, not until I took my two gifts out and put them in the car.

“So can we put a limit on your spreading joy?”

“I am honey, there are only a few things left to get. A case of wine for the postman, a riding lawnmower for the gardener and a home security system for the next door neighbor.”

“Why in hell are we buying the next door neighbor a home security system?”

“Because it’s Christmas. Did you transfer those funds yet?”

I hate this time of year.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I told the checker at the market we could get her a set of tires for her husband’s truck.”



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Copyright © 2010-2040 LDJohnson (Dreamcatcher) - All rights reserved, including all copyrights and all other intellectual property rights in the contents hereof.

The contents and composition herein are not to be copied, reproduced, printed, published, posted, displayed, incorporated, stored in or scanned into a retrieval system or database, transmitted, broadcast, bartered or sold, in whole or in part without the prior express written permission of this author.

Unauthorized duplication is strictly prohibited and will be considered illegally plagiarized and subject to any or all damage claims, and is an infringement of National and International Copyright laws.

This composition may have been inspired by something seen or heard at a time or place heretofore forgotten. In all cases, credit has been attempted to be properly given and when so given, shown as a note or in footnotes. Failure to give proper credit is a mere oversight and/or unknown to this author and not an intentional act.

It is intended to reflect an original work of fiction or based upon personal experiences. Names, characters, places, and descriptions of incidents are products of this author's imagination, fictitiously expressed, personal experience expressed either in detail or loosely referenced, or merely the humble opinion of this author. Any similarities to actual persons or events are coincidental and subject to this author's determination.

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