Dear Christmas Time,
Of all the times in the world – you are one of my favourites. Congratulations.
Party time, The New York Times, Doughnut Time, sleep time, Hammer time, sexy time, daylight savings time, #metime and AFL finals time are all great but don’t quite have the magic you posses.
Yet this isn’t a letter of compliment. This is a letter of complaint.
Christmas time has become the crazy time. What used to begin on December 1 has now crept back until at least mid-November. If it weren’t for the block (and weird rise in this country) of Halloween in late October, I reckon you’d be on for young and old in October.
I blame the dying convention of retail. I blame parties. I blame Kris Kringle. I blame people not understanding that a year may end but friendships go on. I blame community events claiming they are ‘…fun for the whole family’. I blame a tradition that began in the northern hemisphere and like a Danish tourist, hasn’t adapted well to the climate of the southern hemisphere.
As an adult, you are just hard work. And expensive.
If it’s not dollars, its time; which is ironic because you yourself are a version of time and should understand how precious it is. You should also know that I don’t like spending my time in bad function rooms with demi-strangers eating corporate canapés and swallowing bad tasting conversations about regional holiday plans.
“Oh really Tori? You have a place down on the coast for a few days to just chill while your Boston Terrier recovers from hip surgery? You go girl. Just indulge. Have some #metime.” Blah. Blah. Blah.
What happened? You used to be cool. Maybe it was because I was a kid, but back in the 90s you used to be just about handfuls of cheezels, water fights, and just getting presents. Not having to buy them! Remember that? Whoever said it is better to give than to receive never had to pay a month’s salary in shopping centre carparking and shipping fees whilst sourcing those gifts.
It seems we spend our whole Christmas time buying random stuff for all the randoms in our life only to attend awkward events where we ceremoniously pass on these tokens of our social susceptibility.
So here’s my thinking. Let’s pull the Christmas time sleigh over into the slow lane. Less formality, more fun.
Just like the old times.
Yours in Super-Soakers and cheezels,