I have a confession to make. The wife and I haven’t done a no-crap-let’s-exchange-gifts Christmas since ever.
OK, not since, well, when the hell did we last do that?
Basically we suck at Christmas.
It’s not like we want to suck at Christmas. I think we want to excel at Christmas. But there’s all that work that goes along with that idea. You have to put up a tree, there are lights that have to be hung, someone has to buy gifts, said gifts have to be wrapped and then, for the love of god, someone (and that someone ain’t me) has to cook a proper Christmas dinner and who the hell knows where to find, let alone how to kill and clean a fucking goose.
Let me be clear, if this was Dickens’ Christmas Carol I’d be Scrooge telling Tiny Tim, “Dude, we’ll stop at McDonald’s on the way home and yes, you can have the Happy Meal. Hell Merry Christmas, supersize it, man!”
We just barely do it, she and I. Christmas, I mean of course.
We both have fond memories of Christmas as kids though.
I remember clearly opening a Six Million Dollar Man action figure (played by Lee Majors) on Christmas day that had a super-punch arm and a telescopic eye that you looked through via the back of his head, and I loved it.
Dagmar remembers getting her first bicycle. She described the memory thusly:
“It was a fucking bicycle you fucking idiot. Who the fuck doesn’t get excited about their first fucking bicycle? You’re working my last nerve. I’m leaving. I’m going to watch TV. You’re a fucking idiot.”
So, there’s that.
But this year, this year is in fact different, her tirade notwithstanding.
We put up a tree, and not that piece of crap twisted, carted around for the last eight years in a box deformed Gollum looking fake-tree either. Nope, this year we purchased a likely to kill us, honest to shit, fire hazard of a tree.
Its on fire at this very moment, in fact.
Besides the fact that -its constantly on fire, the cat constantly fucks with it, it always (always, always) needs water and it spits off needles like I drink beer – its great.
Seriously, I have sap on my fingers while I’m typppppping this.
Mmmm, fresh pine smell though, can’t beat it.
So, here we are, two individuals without kids — and let’s be honest here, this whole thing is about kids. Yeah, yeah someone was born during this time (he wasn’t), yeah, yeah let’s be thankful (no one does this), yeah, yeah it’s about family (it’s not) — trying to unfuck ourselves just enough to have a good day.
My wife has literally every material thing she wants. If there’s a cookbook that fuses Chinese-Italian with Peruvian gourd cooking, she has it.
I have two remote controlled helicopters that I’ve learned to hate, so that answers my need-to-want ratio nicely I think.
We no longer want is the issue, which leaves us both in odd positions, I think.
Likely I will take her verbal clues entirely too literally, “What? You said you wanted a toenail straightener!” and I will be left saying, “Yes I love video games, but really, who the fuck ever bought My Little Ponies’ Shopping Adventure for a man?”
If we’re alive come Christmas day, If we are alive, I hope you all have an awesome Christmas.