|The cat doesn't care about Christmas|
The war on Christmas?
No, the war on me.
It’s July and dark days approach. Plastic Christmas trees already.
Outside, a blazing 115 degrees.
Yet, synthetic pine wears a mantel of pretend chemical snow.
I shudder and turn away from the conflict to come.
By August, the skeletons of Halloween appear. The shells of dead people cheer me.
But the Santa demons with blank eyes lurk in the back store shelves. They await Halloween’s demise, ready to induce a retail frenzy of mindless manic mayhem. I dodge a whizzing bullet.
The store ads hatch out of their rotten, stinking corporate lairs in September. Not daring to fully emerge, but enough to hint of the chaos to come. Dread creeps into my mind. Random firefight.
Mindless, droning, torturous Christmas music seeps out; a cancer on my brain. Only October, but skulls give way to over-priced strings of holiday lights. I mourn the end of Halloween knowing the nightmare begins. I retreat to the trenches.
Outdoor decorations appear on homes, though it’s not yet Thanksgiving. What the hell is wrong with you? I fight the urge to punch cutesy blow-up figures. Vile Santas and reindeer; elves in helicopters.
PLEASE, NO! Already war weary.
Full on December assault. Inattentive drivers fill the streets, shopping, shopping, shopping. Horrid music invades every public space. Jingle Bells–stab my eyes out. My mood sinks lower. Vapid ads everywhere for cars, flooring, clothes, electronics, food, candy, perfume, booze....IT NEVER ENDS.
All the F**KING CHEER. I fake enthusiasm and put up a tree. Wait for the end of the battle.
Finally, it stops. Blessed calm. Peace.
Then the post war sales begin.