I hate Christmas shopping. Don’t get me wrong – I love Christmas. I love the lights, the carols, the family, and who could forget that whole baby Jesus thing? I only hate the shopping.
I hate those little gifty books by the cash register that will sell thousands more copies than great works of literature. I hate that the employees look overworked, and that I’m partly to blame. I hate that I’m not crafty. If I were, I could avoid the stores altogether and spend five dollars on crap I found at a garage sale and make the freaking Mona Lisa like my sister.* I hate trying to spend about the same amount on each person, not to mention wondering how much they’re spending on me. I hate wondering if the receiver will like her gift, or whether I’ll be categorized as the well-meaning but lame aunt. I hate not being able to find the exact thing I want. Yes, you can usually find exactly what you want on the internet, but I gave up internet Christmas shopping after the SECOND time a gift never arrived. That reminds me, I hate that company (I won’t name them so they don’t sue me) that never sent me my dad’s window clings even though I ordered with time to spare and called them repeatedly, and I hate that one other company that delivered my Joshua Cripps calendar the following March, slightly crumpled. (Sorry I accused you of not sending it, Josh.)
I hate Christmas shopping so much that my favorite part about it is driving through the extra traffic and squeezing my big sedan into a compact spot and walking through the rain from the far reaches of the parking lot to get to the store. Say a prayer for me, Salvation Army bell-ringer, I’m goin in.
I hate Christmas shopping so much that it’s December 16th, and I haven’t started yet.
I hate Christmas shopping so much that I’m writing about how much I hate it instead of finishing a very important writing project.
I hate Christmas shopping so much that I’m considering putting a bow on my cat and giving her as a gift. (Actually, that would be a win-win.)
I hate Christmas shopping so much that if I’ve forgotten to hate something about it, I hope you will remind me so that I can hate it, too.
* To be clear, my sister spends more than five dollars on my Christmas presents. I’m just saying, she is a genius with the crafts.