Christmas means nothing to me. It’s not like I hate it as some do, it’s more an irritation like a bad skin rash or one of those painful cracks I get on my hands in the Winter. I’m not a Christian so their guy Jesus’s birthday is irrelevant and not something I need to celebrate. I also have a phobia about fat guys with big beards dressed in tights which I know came about when I was molested by that instructor in my San Francisco dance class.
Actually, I was a professional Christmas caroler back in high school. Me, a couple of girls and another guy were the leads in the choir and the Paradise, CA Chamber of Commerce hired us to walk around town in costume to sing Christmas carols. Now they just make me want to throw up and I’m actively looking for noise canceling headphones to wear in the store.
I’ve also never bought a diamond as a means of getting or keeping a girl so I’m never going to Jared’s and they can stop asking now. I have a wonderful big TV mute button next to my keyboard that I can slam down hard when offensive Christmas crap comes on or they start bashing our president.
I really do try to be sensitive to the people I encounter that enjoy this thing. When I get a Merry Christmas my response is You Bet! Please, enjoy spending your money on gifts you feel obligated to give and go eat some more turkey on Monday. Have fun!
And here’s a photo from the past, when Christmas had meaning: left to right my sister, my mom, me and my brother.
