Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Where has the time gone?
Like a cheap pair of shorts, Christmas is creeping up on me. There are just two more pay days until Christmas.
They even gave us that hour back off Daylight Savings Time – for the record I refuse to say Daylight Saving Time — and here it is almost Dec. 1.
Christmas lights are up, Black Friday will be here and gone, and I won’t even get any Thanksgiving leftovers.
All my favorite TV shows are about to go on Christmas hiatus, which means I’ll have nothing to watch for the next six weeks except Charlie Brown reruns.
I say, “Bah Humbug!” to that.
This is going way too fast for me.
Pretty soon it’ll start getting warm again and I can’t have that.
Last summer about killed me. I can’t do that kind of heat anymore. It’s just now getting good and cold at nights. I’ve finally dried out from the summer heat. My sweat glands need a couple of months off.
Still, here comes Christmas.
Notice I haven’t said the word “holiday,” either – except for just now. I refuse to say, “The Holidays” just like I refuse to say the word “Saving” in Daylight Savings Time. I’m going to add the “S” every time.
This is Christmas, not “The Holidays.” Someone tells me “Happy Holidays,” I will do my level best not to have a happy holiday.
Now, tell me, “Merry Christmas,” and I’ll do my level best to not be unhappy, how’s that?
The problem I have there is that I’m not an expressively happy person, especially at Christmas, and it has everything to do with Santa Claus.
Christmas morning has always brought disappointment.
When and where on my list did I say I wanted a plaid shirt, an argyle sweater vest and socks?
I asked for a GI Joe with lifelike hair. Plus a new baseball bat and baseball as my old ball got stuck in the gutter and got waterlogged. It was like throwing a shotput.
I didn’t ask for clothes.
Getting clothes for Christmas is a waste of a good wrapping job. How can you expect a 9-year old to be excited when, after ripping open the big box with the red ribbon bow, he finds a plaid shirt, an argyle sweater vest and socks?
That’s one present less to open and I got clothes?
What happened to the Rifleman authentic replica Winchester rifle? I asked for that, too.
Here’s an experiment for you.
Imagine a plaid shirt, an argyle sweater vest, and socks.
Are you smiling?
But your folks want you to be excited about getting school clothes. Even back in 1967, you wore a plaid shirt and argyle sweater to third grade, you got beat up on the playground.
So I always tempered my happiness because I knew half the items mentioned on my Christmas list won’t be under the tree.
So here comes Christmas.
Just two pay days left.
I’m going to be broke again.
I got two words for that and they’re not Merry Christmas.
Or Happy Holidays.
The Berkeley Independent is pleased to offer readers the enhanced ability to comment on stories. We expect our readers to engage in lively, yet civil discourse. We do not edit user submitted statements and we cannot promise that readers will not occasionally find offensive or inaccurate comments posted in the comments area. Responsibility for the statements posted lies with the person submitting the comment, not The Berkeley Independent.