I've been grumpy recently. I know why, at least. There's little in this world more aggravating than not knowing why you're so stressed. This time of year, though, I can summarize it all in a single solitary word:
HOLIDAY.
'Tis the season for fantasizing about how to avoid family, right?
I remember the first year I had a real job. Set hours. Dependable work that came with a totally decent paycheck. I have always dreamed of having a specific someone demonstrate love, respect, gratitude, and...what...love. That's the word. I wanted this person to show love. So I shopped for hours that year; I went from store to store to store, and mall to mall to mall.
I found the perfect shirt: black, crushed velvet with a gothic pattern I knew was right up his alley. The only issue was that it was waaaaaay out of my price range at $60. That was a lot of money to me. Still, I took a deep breath and handed over my bank card.
I was so excited for Christmas that year. I thrilled when I thought of how the person would react. How he would love this shirt. I wasn't completely delusional, though: I kept the receipt and told the person that if they didn't like it or whatever, it would be fine to return or exchange. Christmas morning came, and he said he liked it. It was great. Perfect. Amazing. Couldn't wait to wear it out and about. I was in ecstasy.
But I was blind. That person didn't care. The shirt stayed in the box. First it was a week, then a couple. Then it was months, and the season had changed. He never wore that shirt. He didn't exchange it or return it.
He didn't care. He didn't give a damn.
That was the same Christmas morning that he left early, leaving his wife and child so that he could go spend the rest of the day with his girlfriend. I know, I know: what a winner.
That's just one of the multitude of stories that I could tell in order to help explain why I hate "the holiday season" and why I'm very seriously considering my husband's amazing idea of escaping the holidays and going on a cruise next year. Just not to Santa's workshop.
HOLIDAY.
'Tis the season for fantasizing about how to avoid family, right?
I remember the first year I had a real job. Set hours. Dependable work that came with a totally decent paycheck. I have always dreamed of having a specific someone demonstrate love, respect, gratitude, and...what...love. That's the word. I wanted this person to show love. So I shopped for hours that year; I went from store to store to store, and mall to mall to mall.
I found the perfect shirt: black, crushed velvet with a gothic pattern I knew was right up his alley. The only issue was that it was waaaaaay out of my price range at $60. That was a lot of money to me. Still, I took a deep breath and handed over my bank card.
I was so excited for Christmas that year. I thrilled when I thought of how the person would react. How he would love this shirt. I wasn't completely delusional, though: I kept the receipt and told the person that if they didn't like it or whatever, it would be fine to return or exchange. Christmas morning came, and he said he liked it. It was great. Perfect. Amazing. Couldn't wait to wear it out and about. I was in ecstasy.
But I was blind. That person didn't care. The shirt stayed in the box. First it was a week, then a couple. Then it was months, and the season had changed. He never wore that shirt. He didn't exchange it or return it.
He didn't care. He didn't give a damn.
That was the same Christmas morning that he left early, leaving his wife and child so that he could go spend the rest of the day with his girlfriend. I know, I know: what a winner.
That's just one of the multitude of stories that I could tell in order to help explain why I hate "the holiday season" and why I'm very seriously considering my husband's amazing idea of escaping the holidays and going on a cruise next year. Just not to Santa's workshop.
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