It happens every year.
Every year I bitch and grumble and "Hmmph!" and "Bah, humbug!" my way through the month of December like Ebenezer Scrooge with PMS.
"I HATE Christmas!" I say, "I hate Christmas tunes!"
"I hate packages, trees and Christmas baloons!"
(Oops! Going all Dr. Seuss again. Sorry about that!)
Anyway, you know what I mean.
I go from Thanksgiving foreward with nothing good to say about Christmas.
Then, around the 24th, something happens. Something magical.
No, I don't get visited by Jacob Marley and the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future.
But somehow or other (I can't quite explain it) I suddenly get the Christmas Spirit.
It's a wonderful feeling.
Then, while sipping (100 Proof) eggnog with the husband last night, Christmas lights and music all around us, I realized that it's not Christmas itself that I despise so much.
It's all the other stuff: the long lines and the crowds in stores, the indecision and angst that comes from not knowing what to buy people, all the money that's spent makes me worry about the bills that are coming next month, and the hassle of decking the halls (and then having to undeck them afterward).
I don't hate Christmas at all.
I actually believe in the whole "Peace on Earth, Goodwill to men" concept. I want everyone to get along and be friendly to one another and embrace the joy of giving -- even if it's just for one day.
And there's nothing like the smile of joy on my little nephew's face when he opens his presents and Santa Claus brought him everything he asked for.
And Santa Claus was good to me, too. No lump of coal for me this year!
I guess I was a good boy after all.