Christmas

You might think December's a weird time to start a blog, and you'd be right. I must be honest and say that it is mostly because the holidays have just started and I wanted something to do. But a little part of it, admittedly, is because for me these holidays are just that - gaps between hellish schooling. Being Jewish, reform, I don't, never have and probably never will celebrate Christmas. This entertains me more than anything. I don't feel particularly left out, mainly because I'm a cynic and we are arrogant and miserable about most things, especially corny things people seem to enjoy. When everyone else is singing about angels and wearing red elf hats and holding you down in order to ring bells in your ears for hours while continually yelling "ARE YOU JOLLY YET?", I feel a bit superior, a bit indie, a bit eccentric. Look at me, I don't celebrate your holiday. I'm different. Take that, society! No, mostly it's because I don't like carols and the idea of a fat, bearded man creeping into your house at night to watch you sleep terrifies me. Thanks, but I'm happy with the invisible Hanukkah fairy flitting around, you can keep your jolly pedophile. 
I don't mean to be offensive, I really don't. I joke, honestly, I do, but surely even the hardcore Christians can see the humour in this? Kids dressed as donkeys and wisemen and stars and little candy canes which no-one seems to like but everyone eats anyway and family screaming fits and all the rest of it. It entertains me. It's like everyone's so pent up with joyful cheer that they throw themselves into Christmas and even later, when they have received fourteen awful knitted jumpers 

and eaten so much they can only roll over to scream at their dysfunctional family because some far-off aunt made a veiled remark about the steamed potatoes, they continue to tell themselves "this is wonderful, everyone loves Christmas, I'm so happy I could just die". 


I enjoy telling people I don't celebrate Christmas. They always look at me like I've just told them I eat puppies. First there's the obvious shock, then the sudden realization that they should not look obviously shocked and so hide the obvious shock under an awkward smile. But then there is the pitiful look. God, you poor thing. I bet you're an orphan. With some terminal disease. Let me bathe you in Yorkshire puddings by the light of the nativity fire. 


It occurs to me that I sound very, very bitter.I don't mean to be. I created this blog only to laugh at life in general and enjoy it. Sorry! 


Sincerely, 
The Grinch.