What I Don’t Want for Christmas

The morning I squeezed toothpaste into my hair thinking it was hair conditioner was the last straw. Yep, I could feel the holidays looming like an eggnog fog into a fluoride-filled cloud of consternation.

Instinct leaned towards cancelling the holidays and booking the next Caribbean cruise. But that’s outta the question this year, so I vowed to fine-tune three of my potential four-alarm holiday fiascos in preparation for next year: the mall parking lot, holiday dinners, and postal mishaps. On the surface, these are simple chores, but in my case, they can spiral downward into vicious bear traps of Christmas cheer.


There’s Naughty Elves in the Parking Garage

When I shop at the mall, I normally resign myself to a hike in the parking garage mimicking a Sierra Club tour. No, I don’t wait for the frazzled mom with triplets (and apparently 1000 friends and relatives) to load her car.  But here’s the thing: I can’t do anything about the car in front of me with the perpetual blinker.

So…laying on your horn doesn’t help me. Let it go. I’m just as anxious as you are to begin my trek towards Mount Everest. Maybe try singing “Deck the Halls” instead of “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer”?


Keep Your Head Out of the Oven

I used to have visions of sugarplums coming out of my kitchen, but that was before two cats and a giant black Labrador.  Now, I’ll settle for anything without animal hair in it. So I don’t bury my head in the oven while everyone else is slurping pumpkin spice lattes. I know the hams and hens will still be at the store on Christmas Eve. (More than a few kinds of turkeys, too.) It’ll be busier and more frantic, but short-lived and worth it (as long as I stay away from those naughty elves).

Where’s Rudolph When You Need Him?

I think I know why Rudolph’s stuck with delivering gifts at Christmas. He’s a cute, fictional reindeer who’s easily blamed if you have a last minute panic at the post office.

Let’s face it: mailing a Christmas box is no easy feat–you need a back brace to survive the lines and an advanced degree to determine which form to fill out. I’d ask for assistance, but the icy stare behind the counter strikes more fear in my heart than bright camera lights and “Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do.”  Sure, I know there are other options, but I can’t afford to miss my mortgage payment.

So, if you’re late for dinner because you’re stuck in a parking garage, or are handcuffed in shame because you asked too many questions at the post office, you won’t have me to blame.

As for me, I’ll be dreaming of that cruise ship and drinking pumpkin spiced lattes!

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