I am not a Christmas person.
I know, I know.
Apparently that makes me a kill joy. Since I’m not jazzed about your tinsel, your red and green sweaters, or binging on overly sprinkled cookies and a She & Him album, I’m the worst. Since I’m not one of those people who gets all amped about sleigh bells and all of the movies running on repeat on ABC Family, I need to just keep my mouth shut until December 26th rolls around.
But the thing is, it doesn’t end there.
People who are all about Christmas are ALL. ABOUT. CHRISTMAS. And while I’m down with seeing my family and eating a lot of mashed potatoes, I just don’t really see the point surrounding all of it.
Can’t we all stop and recognize that Christmas is basically a marketing ploy to get us to buy out stores so that their inevitable End-Of-Year-Inventory is more manageable? Don’t we see that “sending cheer” is something Hallmark invented to get us to justify $7 cards that sing “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” instead of picking up the phone and calling Grandma? Aren’t we all in on the fact that Christmas has gone from being about community to being about who gets the best Christmas light shot on Instagram?
Oh, that’s right. I’m not supposed to feel that way. Or at least admit that I do.
Because by feeling this way I’m a kill joy.
Or worse, I’m a Grinch.
But see? I kind of think the Grinch was on to something. In the same way that Miranda identified with the Witch from Hansel and Gretel in that Sex and the City episode, I identify on a deep level with everyone’s favorite green dude.
In the Dr. Seuss tale, we’re led to believe that the Grinch is a lonely guy who misunderstands everyone around him and just needs his heart to grow from being three sizes too small.
Well you know what? Fuck that.
The Grinch didn’t misunderstand anything. He knew exactly what those little Whos were putting down and he just didn’t want to pick it up. He knew the answer to Cindy Lou’s, “Where are you Christmas?” was “Wherever the longest line on Black Friday is, CL.” He had a kick-ass rig in the mountains, with a scruffy but obviously chill dog, and he just wanted to hang out up there without having to worry about whether or not some damn kids were going to use his stoop for a rousing game of ding-dong-ditch.
The Grinch isn’t a symbol of needing holiday cheer. The Grinch is a fictional example of every post-grad who’s hoping their phone never rings and would really dig just getting some rent money this year.
Personally, I get where the Grinch was coming from. There’s something about Christmastime that brings out the lonely in everyone, whether we’ll admit it or not. It makes us feel insecure for not being (or having) a plus one at holiday parties. And even though we roll our eyes at the Mrs. Claus lingerie in Macy’s, we wish we had someone to buy it “for” and joke about how ridiculous it is with. It makes the fact that our families are states away and we may not see them for another 365+ days a hard pill to swallow. You don’t often get this feeling of guilt on a random day like May 13th. But during the month of December you’ll be slapped in the face with it over and over again.
So it’s understandable that when presented day-after-day with this holiday that isn’t always as joyous as that Papyrus card would want you to believe, the Grinch got a little crotchety.
I am not a Christmas person.
I don’t care about paper snowflakes, I don’t want to go caroling, and I’ve seen The Holiday but would really rather watch something else.
So go ahead and call me a Grinch. But frankly, he seemed like a chill AF dude and I’d be down to get beers with him.