You know what? Fine. Whatever. Go do your stupid Christmas things, you filthy animals.
Put up the tinsel, the tree, the weird, stupid, ugly wreaths you hang on the front door — the whole kit and kaboodle. You can no longer hurt me.
It’s December 1, meaning I — the self-appointed Christmas Grinch — will allow you this one (one!) month of decoration and celebration.
You get 31 days. No more.
Why do I get to decide this? Who gave me this supreme authority over billions of people who celebrate Christmas?
Me. I did. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
I love Christmas Day. It’s my favourite day of the year. But, as I keep yelling from the rooftops, I hate the lead-up to Christmas.
In a former life, I slaved away under the yoke of Big Christmas, working five months of the year in the tinsel mines and coming out with glitter lung, which is a sparkly version of coal miners’ black lung.
I won’t bore you with the details, but I set up more Christmas trees per year than most people do in a lifetime.
I no longer like Christmas trees. Or baubles. Or stars. Or most other assorted Christmas paraphernalia.
If I so much as see the shades of blue, yellow, green or red that make up every multi-coloured Christmas light set in the world, my eye twitches.
But as the trauma fades, so does my anti-Christmas resolve. I’ve made my peace with public displays of Christmas for one (one!) month of the year, because they bring so many people so much joy.
I’ll put up my DMZ (De-Merrified Zone) around my desk at work — which is a wall of cardboard blocking the tinsel along the top of desks — bunker down, and quietly grumble.
If you don’t shove your Christmas joy down my throat I won’t retaliate by saying I’d rather listen to ska than Christmas carols, or by saying the only good Christmas movie is Die Hard, simply by virtue of it being the only Christmas movie where no Christmas-ing actually happens.
But if you stay in your lane, the dozens — dozens! — of my fellow Grinches across the country who hate decorations as much as I do won’t be completely insufferable about the whole thing and make hating Christmas a personality trait.
Well, maybe.
So go off, king. Put up that tree. Put up the decorations if it brings you joy. This is your month to celebrate. Christmas can no longer hurt me in December.
But to anyone who puts their trees or decorations or anything remotely Christmas-themed up early — I’m telling Santa.