If you know me, you know I have always proudly said, “I hate Christmas.” Because of my horrible childhood, I had no positive memories to associate with the holidays so of course, I grew to dislike this time of year with a vehement passion. Finally, things are different- for the first Christmas in nearly 30 years, I am not drinking and that has changed everything.
I could recount all the reasons why I
think thought (still getting used to this!) Christmas is stupid because this is my blog and I can write whatever the heck I want but in the spirit of Christmas and in the spirit of the title of this post, I won’t. I’ll just skim the holly boughed surface a bit…
Growing up Catholic, Christmas was more like a subpoena than an event to look forward to. Lots of baking and lots of church-going in crispy velvet outfits lined with musty smelling faux fur and white lace trimmed socks neatly folded at the ankle. As a child, I never got any gifts I actually wanted and had no idea why Santa only put underwear and socks under the tree when I had specifically asked for a Cabbage Patch Kid, Spirograph, and Peaches n’ Cream Barbie. Like, WTH Santa?!
Somewhere along the way of elementary school I began to put the clues together to understand why this “Santa” “person” was consistently not doing his job. No wonder all my presents sucked.