Death To Them All

So I get the main idea behind Christmas: little Jesus in a manger, gifts from the Magi, no room at the inn ... kindness .... blah, blah, blah. Santa. Gifts. Angelic little childrens sitting by the twinkling tree patiently on Christmas morning, ever grateful for the presents that appeared miraculously overnight, and all because they were good all year long. Yeah. Right.

However, it's easy to forget the warm and fuzzy feelings that are supposed to be invoked during the holiday season when one must brave the malls, or dare I say it, the local Wal-Mart, which is guaranteed to be laden with the rude, the fat, the cheap, the stupid and the spawn of the aforementioned (most likely wearing dirty T-shirts that don't quite fit over the young'uns bulging stomachs, complete with bright red Kool-Aid stains around the screeching mouths). That being said, I braved the mall this past weekend (there is no way I'm stepping a foot in even the Wal-Mart PARKING lot which is always a fun excursion and usually ends with me cussing out someone that doesn't even speak English). It was every bit as bad as I'd anticipated. Over an hour spent searching for a parking spot. Long, ridiculous lines where the person in front of you drags out the cashier's attention, leaving you behind them shifting your weight from foot to foot and wondering how long you can hold the heavy box in your arms and still have enough strength to chuck it at the thoughtless idiot in front of you.

The thing that gets me about what's become of Christmas is that we put up with all of this insipid nonsense designed to make you blow a gasket, all so you can give somebody something that they might not even like. Did you ever get that gift that made no freaking sense? Ooooh, look a Slinkie! And you thought of me? How nice.

Christmas (let's forget Jesus and the manger and the Magi for a moment) was in essence manufactured as a greedy holiday, something to hold over childrens' heads to ensure that they were good little bastards all year. Now, now, Little Johnny if you don't stop giving sweet blonde pig-tailed Suzie a wedgie, Santa is going to give you nothing but a lump of coal this year! Little Johnny probably stuck out his tongue at you when you weren't looking, thus proving to himself that being insolent wouldn't result in that horrible lump of coal as long as the insolence went unnoticed by the parental units.

I digress. I was at the mall, breathing evenly through my nose, sidestepping those annoying people that stop in the middle of a crowded walking lane to glance around as if they were suddenly beamed up in front of Hot Topic, confused about how they'd gotten there. Move to the side, asshole, and let those of us who know how to work the mall properly by. I actually managed to fare pretty well out there in the cutthroat world of Christmas shopping for five hours. Part of this was because I kept promising myself that when I was done, I would reward my good, calm effort by having lunch at California Pizza Kitchen, complete with a glass (or bottle depending on my level of desired implosion) of wine.

It was when another rude, inconsiderate person, walking slower than a freaking snail, along with her litter of children (probably all from different Baby Daddies), all fanned out to completely block the walkway, happened in front of me that I lost it. All decorum gone. I cussed the woman (and I suppose her brats too) out, turning heel and heading for the CPK, abandoning any thought that I should hit Target for any gifts I hadn't yet bought.

Needing wine desperately, I wove quickly in and out of the crazed mob of shoppers, finally coming upon the door of the restaurant to discover that there was a 20 minute wait for a table. Oh hell no. I turned and left abruptly, heading for my car and inching out into the slow-paced road outside the garage, headed toward home where when my sweet husband asked if I needed help, and I demanded in a stressed voice, "Please open a bottle of wine."

Tonight, I again brave the brutal crowds (still not courageous or patient enough to hit Wal-Mart) so please everyone, pray for my sanity. I've already warned Scott that he should have bail money at the ready. I think perhaps this year I'll get everyone a photo of myself in a strait jacket with the caption: Sorry I didn't quite get to the register with the gift that you'd probably never use anyway.