“I’m not really a Christmas person” should probably go on my gravestone but it’s true, I find it a lot of bother for a couple of days and although I love my family and spending time with them, I’d be happy to swerve a lot of the things we’re supposed to do round this time of year.
Not you though: cheese platter, mince pies, five days off and saying “Fuck it, it’s Christmas!”. I guess you could say I’m a Christmas fan when it suits my own personal agenda.
I’m just conscious of how much cheer is expected of us and I’m also guilty of trying to gee people up about it at work but if I’m very honest, it’s tiresome. Especially this year. Though 2020 is an exception and there are two trains of thought – we both need the distraction of something that reminds us of what’s important AND should be forgiven if our hearts just aren’t in it. Or we simply haven’t got the mental capacity for it.
Our Christmas this year is going to be small but perfectly formed. Me, Mum and my old man – Zoom calls to family and unlimited Netflix/festive food. All I care about is the time together and the time off work. I’m going to overdose on Christmas movies and heal from a crazy month at work. I have just about enough strength to get on board the micro Christmas. And while there will be less presents around the tree and less people in the house there will be more love than ever.
You see how conflicted I am? I’m feeling sentimental in a post about how much I can’t be arsed. I am the Queen of Contradiction. While I’m here I have to say how much I’ve missed a whole host of Christmas traditions this year. Through no fault of even COVID’s I’ve been in virtual hibernation since November – leaving only a handful of times to catch up with friends. I’ve swerved the drinks and the meals out, the Starbucks festive drinks and the lights in town.
Totally COVID’s fault is the no Christmas parties, no sequin dresses and wardrobe malfunctions. No scandals around the Christmas tree – no fights or illicit snogs. No embarrassing photo booth photos – or potential firings the Monday after.
I long for the Burger King afterwards – and swapping my heels for sneakers so I can dance like a twat with my pals. These are the things I miss and these are the things that will have more meaning next year when Corona’s had her day.
I actually can’t wait for that. Maybe next year I’ll finally become a Christmas person.