Would you hate me if I said I can’t stand Christmas?
Yeah, I kinda hate me too.
But it’s a game of charades I can no longer keep up. Actually, I don’t think I ever hid it. So in essence I suck at charades. But Christmas drives me mad. The over-production, the insane crazy shops, ugly Christmas shirts. No wait, I kinda dig the tackiness of them. It’s like totes hipster, right? If so, I’m in. The pressure. THE PRESSURE. To hold the perfect day. To be creating amazing food and have this spectacular house. Decorated to the hilt, courtesy of Woman’s Weekly (monthly, whatevs) Christmas Special. To have amazing special, never-to-be-recreated-again moments with all the family. And the obligation to have to spend the whole day with said extended family. Great if one has an awesome family. Not so great if it’s a little nutty. Then it’s more akin to being locked in a panic room with a twitchy skunk. I am deep into Grinchmas town.