Overall, I’m pretty good with the whole Christmas gig. I mean, the kids and Wolf enjoy the holiday, and that’s the important part, right? And, we’ve so far done a good job at explaining the reason for Christmas, and also been able to keep the ‘gimmies’ to a dull roar, and are working to instill a sense of caring and giving spirit in them. I think we’re doing not too shabby with the holidays.
But there are a few things that make me go, “Ho, ho, ho…No.”
Egg nog: I’m sorry, but what the heck is this crap? It’s a thick liquid, and reminds me of mucous. I seriously don’t know if its a texture issue, or a flavour issue, but I seriously gag on it. I’ve tried it. Several times. And gag, each and every time. My family loves this stuff, and I have to leave the room. I can’t even handle watching them drink it, or I start gagging. Who’s bright idea was it to mix milk and egg in a DRINK anyways? And it’s yellow. It’s like, infection in a glass. Slurp that up, yum yum yum. *gag*
Mincemeat: Someone once asked me what the heck mincemeat is. I wasn’t sure, so I went looking. What’s that tell you, when folks aren’t even sure what mincemeat actually is? Nothing good, as far as I’m concerned. According to Wiki, it used to have actual *meat* in it. *shudder* And I thought the modern version was bad. And it’s aged. Um, that means that the fruit ferments, yes? So, it’s basically spiced rotted fruit. With booze. In a pastry. Yummo! Not. I’ve eaten mincemeat. Once. And threw the hell up all that night, and into the next day. Some folks might suggest that it was a poorly timed stomach flu, but I swear it was the mincemeat. Unlike egg nog, mincemeat is not something allowed in the Non Stepford house. Cause Wolf agrees that it’s gross.
Rum balls: Again, I’ve tried these. I don’t know if I’ve been hanging out with some serious booze lovers, or if the folks I know get just a wee bit over zealous with the alcohol around the holidays, but I’ve had rum balls that were *wet*. I’m talking, left wet marks on the plate. Trying to eat one was an interesting experience. Crisped the hair in my nose, my eyes started to water, and my eyebrows started to smoke. And that’s before I even put it in my mouth. I probably should’ve taken the warning signs seriously, but hey, it was a wee little rum ball! What harm could it do? And I was a teenager for my first rum ball attempt. Invincible, not about to be over come by a pastry.
I ended up stumbling over to the couch, and spent the rest of the evening crooning sweet nothings to the cat. Thankfully, our cat was a very patient animal. She probably considered my ramblings a step up from being draped around my brother’s neck like a furry boa and transported around the house. Looking back, I kinda wonder if she wasn’t a wee bit brain damaged, because she had zero sense of self preservation, at all. God love that patient, probably brain damaged feline.
Wrong season toys: I don’t know how a bike became a ‘great’ Christmas gift. I really don’t. At least, not here in CANADA. “Hey, kid! Here’s your big Christmas gift, a new bike! You can use it in…four, maybe five months! Woo hoo!” Seriously, one of my kids got a bike for Christmas from a family member, years ago, and I had to let the poor kid ride it around in the basement for months, until the snow melted. Same goes for roller skates, scooters, skate boards…we live in Canada. Giving a kid something on Christmas that they can’t use for months just seems a wee bit mean. Now, I *did* get Wolf a bike for last Christmas, but he’s an adult, and a bit nuts. I knew he’d probably try a bit of winter trail riding, given the chance. Plus, he’s not going to be begging me, on an hourly basis, ‘Can I just try it? Please? It’s not that icy out! I’ll wear a helmet!” the way the kids would.
Creepy Christmas songs: “Santa Baby”? Really? The Madonna version is creepy, but the one by Michael Buble? Seriously? I’m doing the icky icky dance over here.”Baby It’s Cold Outside”? Have you read those lyrics? A woman saying no, and a guy trying to weasel her into staying. Including pouring her more alcohol. BLEARGH! And, while it’s not a creepy Christmas Carol, I’ve always loathed ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’. It. Never. Ends. I much prefer the Bob and Doug version, because hey, it’s Canadian, ya hoser, and it’s mercifully short. With a beer. In a tree.
So, whatever may make your own personal, “Ho, ho, ho, NO.” list, I hope it stays far from you this holiday season. And I’d love to hear what, if anything, does make that list for you, in the comments!