Oh, I’ve got a list. And I’m checking it twice. But you may wish you weren’t on it. I promise to get merry somewhere along the line. And I’m even hoping for calm and bright. But right now, that whole “most wonderful time of the year” thing sounds a lot like fake news to me. And you are on my lump of coal list if:
You managed to sleep later than 2:30 a.m. today. You weren’t awake in a panic over not yet having even one sugarplum for the little one’s stockings? You’re dead to me.
You are one of those people I know who squeal excitedly about having finished their holiday shopping back in September. A pox upon you.
Speaking of the calendar, I’d like to have the name of the time thief who removed an entire week of December. I know for a fact that it was just December 3 a couple of days ago and yet the 17th keeps coming up on my phone calendar. What’s with that?
You, over there. The one I keep seeing at parties, sampling cheese puffs and chocolate truffles with abandon and never gaining an ounce. I looked at a pfeffernusse last week and there went another dress size…
Purveyors of gift-wrapping supplies. You, sirs, are Beelzebub incarnate. Shiny little roll of ribbon that costs $7 and then, unspooled, is just about long enough to wrap one and a half shirt boxes? Who do you think you’re kidding?
As long as we are talking about the devil, here’s a special shout-out to my L-2, 3, 4 and 5 vertebrae. That song of searing pain you were belting out all night long was not exactly music to my ears.
Oh, and that reminds me. Music. I’ve said this before but it bears repeating. Anyone who sings, plays or facilitates the dissemination of the song “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” should be hung upside down by their jingle bells.
To the Russians, who have clearly hacked my husband’s internal programming. Please return that nice man to me, because this Grinch with whom you have replaced him and who keeps telling me that people don’t give Christmas gifts anymore is not helping the situation.
To all the people who actually remembered to put stamps on their Christmas cards before you mailed them, just stop giving me that smug look. Like you’re smarter than me or something. Huh.
If you can assemble a Nordstrom box in under a half hour. Or, at all. I officially hate you. Or maybe I need to hire you, because I’ve got some pretty wonky looking boxes over here. What the heck IS a “gusset”, anyway?
If you are the idiot lame brain who decided it would be a good idea to plan a birthday party TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS. Oh wait, that was me. Never mind…
And the most special ire of all, the contents of an entire coal mine, go to the guy who zoomed into the sweet parking place for which I had patiently waited, the guy who almost ran me down as I walked across said parking lot AND to the clerk who stole my credit card number the other day. Hope you enjoyed the $150 dinner you charged on it, meaning, actually, that I hope you choked on it. Eight shopping days left and I am without a MasterCard. At least my husband is happy…