Why Christmas Hates Me

I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas. I love it. It hates me.
I still believe in Santa Claus, but he's starting to piss me off. In five years Santa hasn't left one present under the tree for my son! He's a good kid. He doesn't deserve this. Santa hasn't brought me anything either, but I understand. He's neglected me ever since I moved out of my parent's house.
I thought this was supposed to be a cheery holiday, but every year the wild hordes
flock to the stores, fighting over supplies the same way they do before a hurricane. The news calls it Black Friday. Ominous. I stay indoors.
Why do we have to wait so long for Christmas! The stores don't even start stocking the shelves until November First! When I was a kid I cut ornaments from construction paper and hung them on my wall in July. As an adult, I tried to extend the holiday by leaving my tree up until February. That tradition ended with a terse letter from the fire department.
 It's not all bad. I love the Christmas music most of all. I love that you can go into any store in the country, at any random time, for two months, with a 98% chance of being met by "Last Christmas".
 I love that I don't have to hear from my friends but once a year when they send me a winter picture of their kids and no letter. I love the fact I can give any random gift and it's the thought that counts. I love that I can lie about being on a diet as I chug eggnog and reach for second helpings.
 Over time, things change. I used to trudge through cold wet snow to deliver coal. Thanks to Big Oil, I don't have to worry about a White Christmas for another thousand years or more.
 I love Christmas, but I’m thinking of skipping it this year. Maybe that’s what Kwanzaa’s for.

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