
Every year for the past 6 years, instead of a traditional Christmas letter, I have written a snarky Christmas rant. Get yourself a hot cocoa, kick that damn fallen ornament out of your way, and enjoy this year’s Christmas rant.
Well if it isn’t that rosy-cheeky time of year again.
If it isn’t that joyful, tra-la-la, twinkly, LA. DE. DA.
I sighed merrily, burped a big ’n’ tasty bubble of metallic, polar bear Coca-Cola, and got up off my rosy-cheeked butt.
And I ventured into the basement and lugged upstairs, one at a time, four cardboard boxes of Christmas kitsch and related old junk.
I placed my one-foot-tall tree in the bay window, hung three or four ornaments, and called it a wild, Charlie Brown success.
I wrapped so much garland, and so many strings of colored lights, around my staircase railing that it’s the most wonderful winter fall hazard of the year.
I stood my six-foot-tall nutcracker at the kitchen entrance, as a deterrent to any creature’s stirring, not even a mouse (would go near it).
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I plastered the doors and walls, and ebooks and crannies, with so much red ’n’ green, silver ’n’ gold, that even Santa’s gonna say it’s over the top. (And he loves over the top. You know, housetop, reindeer pause. ‘Cause everybody nose reindeer don’t got paws.)
So then I sat down, I in my cap, to read A Christmas Carol, while waiting for my new boyfriend to appear, like a Gentleman of Christmas Present!!!!
My new boyfriend, I grinned. My handsome, new boyfriend. My handsome bf, my main squeeze, my dear man, who happens to be . . .
I bolted upright, flung my cap to the ground, and stared at the clock in horror. I had precisely 45 minutes to an hour ’n’ 40 (depending on traffic).
Dashing and dancing and prancing and blitzing to the mall, I grabbed ten menorahs, of various sizes, with accompanying candles, twenty strings of blue ’n’ white Star of David lights, five box sets of Kafka’s collected works, and one life-size cardboard cutout of Adam Sandler. Furthermore, to demonstrate my long-term (well, you know, at least four-month) commitment, I snatched a dusty package of matzah that I discovered in a back corner of a bottom shelf of a dollar store.
I dashed and danced and pranced and blitzed home and threw up the decorations. My house, once I’d finished, looked genuinely confused. (Even Adam Sandler looked confused.)
Just as I was donning my cap, and about to pick up my book, the doorbell rang.
Dashing and etc. to the door, I let my boyfriend in!
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“Nice decorations!” he exclaimed, glancing fearfully at the nutcracker.
“That’s enough talking!” I snapped, pulling him under the dreidel-decked mistletoe.
If that wasn’t enough snark for you, visit the Rants of Christmas Past.