I am staring through a stepladder at 1,800 points of light—a profusion of clear mini-lights strung perfectly around our 12-foot Douglas fir.  My kitchen counter is lined with Costco-sized bottles of vanilla extract and molasses, my refrigerator is full of chilling cookie dough, and my home is redolent with that crisp, sugary, baking aroma.

And the holiday anxiety is temporarily at bay, held off by a Saturday list of “mid-December musts” that I have done my best to satisfy.  A list that is not mine but my family’s.  I am happy that they are happy, but I hate doing things just to keep from being labeled “Scrooge” or “Grinch.”

Isn’t that a strange sort of tyranny?  Feeling like one ought to work like the dickens (so to speak) to avoid sharing certain antipathies with fictional characters?  Only for one month out of every year!  For the other 11 months, grinchy smiles and scrooge-like invective are quite permissible.   So, in protest of the illogic of December expectations, I am listing the 5 holiday practices I find ridiculous, banal, depressing, or just downright creepy.

1.  Oversized Yard Ornamentation. Giant lawn inflatables disturb me.  Think about it.  Is there anything particularly festive about a quarter-acre yard featuring eight 10-foot-tall TRAPPED santas and angels?  All with their garish smiles and stiff, absurd waves from within their plastic-snow-globe orbs?   And what about Frostysaurus Rex?  The towering,  menacing, top-hat-adorned inflatable that lies in a defeated, deflated puddle each morning.   And yet he will rise again at sunset to reign over the imprisoned santas and angels!  “Mwa-ha-haaaa!  You thought you could kill me in the greenhouse, Professor Hinkle.  Now you shall paaaaaaay.”  Shudder.

2.    All Holiday Music All the Time! The official radio-station canon of Christmas music is like a miasma of schlock that descends over entire metropolitan listening areas.  In Washington, DC, we are particularly cursed because of the wretched “It’s Christmas Eve in Washington” song in which Maura Sullivan emotes:

The Tidal Basin lies quiet
The tourists have found their way home
Mr. Jefferson’s standing the mid-watch
And there’s a star on the Capitol Dome.

But, then again, there is a more atrocious holiday song than that bit of Christmas jingoism. The whole country has to listen to the pure, piped-in awfulness of “Christmas Shoes” in supermarkets and office buildings.  You know the one I’m talking about:

Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please
It’s Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there’s not much time
You see she’s been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight

I feel my gorge rising.  I must move along with my list before I say something borderline blasphemous about how the salesman might recommend the snazzy red Mary-Magdalene stilettos with some fishnets.

3.   Cheerless Gifting Protocols.  What really saves Christmas for me is how fun it is to be the giver of just the right gift– gorgeously wrapped and adorned with big tulle bows and whimsical little gift tags.  But wait—did I just read that email right?  “In the interest of simplicity and wise use of resources, we want our family members to know that we choose not to give or receive Christmas gifts this year.”  Boo!  I love my family and all of my in-laws, but that is downright depressing.  So you’re telling me I’m not allowed to give you a gift?  And with a message stiff enough to hold Donald Trump’s combover in place through a monsoon.

Oh, I know there’s the whole etiquette of reciprocity to consider—and lots of people are strapped right now.  I get all that, but messages like that are full of sad martyrdom. “You know, gift-giving was never more than a duty anyway—and now that the economy is going south, we all just need to acknowledge the obligatory torture of it all.”

Well, my hands are tied.  If it is so important to you that I not give you a gift, then you have my word that I will studiously leave you off my list.  But how do you feel about an empty box in crisp holographic foil wrap with an artful pinecone bow centerpiece?  Or did I miss a “no pretty gestures” clause in the fine print at the bottom of that email?

4.    The Mandatory Mall Trip. My 11-year-old daughter looks forward to the Mall Shopping Trip as the quintessence of holiday cheer and shared family gift-gathering.  I understand that the decorations, crowds, and food-court snack stops are as enchanting for her as they are nerve-wracking for me.  Even so, I must say something about crowd behavior—mall crowd behavior, to be exact.  Most people in a mall crowd behave as though they were Julie Andrews in the hills, flinging arms out and spinning around in Alpine ecstasy.  They are simply oblivious as to how their movements affect those around them.

My husband tells me that I must be more unobtrusive and easily trod on than the average person, but whatever the reason, I come away bruised.  People gesticulating in animated conversation fling shopping bags out to their sides.  Shopping bags which, as they slam into my thigh, feel like they must be full of Sears dumbbells and Brookstone paperweights.

Families shuffle five or six abreast down the concourse—just as if they were ambling down a deserted beach at sunset.  They glare when I pick my way around Grandma to get into the Sears.  Harumph!  What’s her hurry?  Doesn’t she know this is a big vacation for us all?

5.    Stocking Stuffers. As I mentioned, I adore the beautifully prepared gift.  Quality over quantity.  Presentation over piles.  The expectation that stockings will bulge with small items overwhelms and paralyzes me each year.  I shop for everyone, wrap the gifts, survey my work with pride….and THEN, remember that I have neglected the stocking stuffer shopping.

“Oh, I’ll just get a bunch of candy,” my husband offers.  And instantly I want to scream because we only just cleared out the last of the stupid Halloween candy a few weeks ago.  And, since my kids inherited my weak tooth enamel, I have learned that it is pure evil to shovel pixie sticks and Nerds into their stockings.  So off to Rite-Aid I trot to find mini-slinkies and lip glosses.  And that is the closest I ever come to thanking the relatives who sent the grim no-gifts emails.  At least I can be sure THEY don’t want stocking stuffers!

I have a few more items on my list.  But I will pause for breath here.  Jane, do you have a holiday protest list?  What are your top five most detested holiday expectations or traditions?

Jane

Oooh, Lizzie! I am basking in the glow of your holiday angst. The gift of holiday snark and bah humbug, but as beautifully wrapped as your lovingly adorned gift packages.  This in and of itself is a gift, my friend.  Merry Merry Ho Ho Ho…  

So without further ado, I bring to you my very own list for the Season of Discontent…