Bah Humbug

Dear Mr. Santa Claus:

Excuse me, but I’m writing this letter to inform you that I’m skipping Christmas this year, and I’m plugging up the chimney so there’s no need for you to try and stuff your big old butt down there. 

What?

You heard me.  I don’t have time for this Yule tide crap and putting up the pesky tree and baking sugar cookies shaped like, well, you.  Who made you up anyway?  You aren’t very attractive, and I’d venture to say, you, sir, are no fashion plate.  I mean, seriously, that jacket and those suspenders are vintage something from the weird ages.    I usually don’t mind people dressing casually when they come into my home, but red pajamas?  Really?  

So, excuse me while I try to find another way to celebrate the holidays.   Santa Claus…less.   I know it can be done.   The Jewish folks manage just fine, quite beautifully actually. And who wouldn’t like a present everyday for Hanukkah.   I’m all about the presents.  I just don’t want to work too hard for them.  If I work the system through you, Santa, I have to bust my ass with all the yuletide and jingle-belly traditions, scary distant relatives and the dreaded deluge of Jell-O molds. 

Mistletoe for example.  Really?  What were you thinking with the mistletoe, Santa?  Don’t you get enough loving from Mrs. Santa during the off-season?    In all my days of celebrating the holidays, no one has ever been under that mistletoe with me that I would actually want to kiss.  Can you imagine the germs?  The bad breath?  Uncle Harold’s brown false teeth?  Great Auntie Marjorie’s snuff spittle?   No thank you.  I’ll pass on the mistletoe.  I don’t’ brush my teeth and use mouthwash to get spit-washed by Cousin James’ 12 inch tongue.  His wife might enjoy “all that” and more power to her.

Oh and Santa?  One of my readers recently called me Ms. Scrooge, and I would like to officially take issue with that.  When it comes to Christmas, the ONE thing I truly love is to give presents.  If I have money (or any room on my dozens of credit cards), my family and friends are going to be spoiled rotten with goodies.  I don’t like shopping, but I can push, paw and purchase with the best of them when it comes to getting a good deal.  And shopping online?   Oh baby.  For me it’s better than internet porn.  Not that I would know of such things.  But still…

Maybe what I need to do is just invent my own celebration.  Take you completely out of it, Santa boy.  Leave the Christmas ham in.  Take the mistletoe out.   Leave the hot cocktail waitress dressed up like Santa’s helper in.  Take the egg nog out.  Leave all the rest of the alcohol in. 

What?  I live in Vegas.  You celebrate your way.  I’ll celebrate mine.

Yes, Santa, this could work.  Except I have a bone to pick with you.    I just hate it when I get presents that I don’t want.   I remember my Aunt Loraine (bless her heart and may she still be resting in peace after I call her out like this) bringing over presents to our house for me and my sister.  Every year, I would get so excited with anticipation and then every year I would open up Aunt Loraine’s gift and it would be underwear.  Every freaking year.  What’s up with that business, Santa?  Couldn’t you have intervened at some point and stopped all the knickers-madness?  Seriously.

Isn’t that the definition of insanity?  “Doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results”.   Every year I had new hope for Auntie’s gift, and every year my hopes were dashed by the bloomers.   Sad.

Anyway, Santa, we were discussing the awful gifts?  You know, the ones like the seven-days-of-the-week panties pack,  the 50 cent box of chocolate covered cherries,  the costume jewelry, the fruitcake and the lava lamp?   I could go on and on.  Something needs to be done about awful gifts, Santa Claus.  I think I can help you out here, as I have a business degree and  I’m all about project management.  So, what you should do is, put together a sub-committee to research and discuss awful gifting, then have them report to you on a bi-weekly basis until they come up with a solution  Why bi-weekly?   I just like saying Bi.  (snort). 

One solution to this awful gifting dilemma might be to go into a store and put your gift preferences into a computer, like brides do when they register.  I sure as hell wouldn’t be listing knickers, either, so Auntie would be having a fit.  But she’s not here, so this just might work!  Have your sub-committee look into it, Santa, will ya?  If I receive one more jingle-bells singing fish I’m going to scream.  

 

 

 

 

In closing, Santa, maybe I won’t plug up my chimney after all.  I don’t want to go against tradition.  I like popcorn in those giant tins as much as the next girl.  Just please bring something cool this year, like an iPhone or a Corvette……….or a redhead.  I promise you I have been a very good girl.

What? Santa?  No, my fingers are not crossed behind my back!

(How’d he know?)

Sincerely,

Terri

 (Images from Google Images)

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