I am just not into it this year.
I haven't frosted a cookie.
I haven't pulled out a box from the closet.
I haven't even shopped on Amazon.
And guess what?
Frankly my dear.
I don't care if you don't give a damn.
Gone with the Wind
Time has its way of taking a toll on a person.
You should know.
It is a fact that Christmas number one hundred and something is not going to be as exciting as the first three.
And that holidays have a tendency to make certain people who are otherwise loveable, downright irritable.
This is not your fault.
This is not their fault.
This is the fault of the clocks.
You see, the clocks get all messed up between the end of November and the first of the new year.
It has something to do with quantum physics.
I would explain further, but I do not have a degree. And I do not understand it.
What I can say with certainty is that time, as in days and weeks, whip by. While at the same time minutes and hours stand still.
And time doesn't even exist.
If you need to take care of about a thousand and one different loose ends that come to mind while you are at work, the hands on your clock will not move.
The only motion going on there at your desk is your racing heart.
Because you screwed something up.
And then when you arrive home in the dark because you have to stay late every day and you would like to relax for a moment or two.
This is because the hands on the clocks are now spinning in circles.
Phones are ringing.
Dishes are dirty.
And the dog is barking.
You are like a broken pig.
I do not know what happened in my living room on Thanksgiving with this cute gal of mine and the up-and-coming generation who were seated there for dinner.
But Sven found a tube of super glue in the skinny drawer.
Because come hell or high-water sister, you have got to put your party dress on.
It is almost Christmas.
Quit feeling sorry for yourself.
Start clicking on that shopping cart.
Because it doesn't matter that frankly you don't give a damn.
Not every Christmas will be your best Christmas.
They will not all be pretty.
Remember when you donned the front room curtains, rod and all, when Harvey, I mean Rhett Butler came calling on you on the Carol Burnett Show?
Just do your best.
Unless you are trying to set a new low bar.
I already have mine.
It was the year I didn't get those bell bottoms that I asked for.
"What's that Louisa?"
My sister says that the bell bottom incident was in sixth grade and that I should get over it.
Anyway a few kinks in life are trying to get in the way of a happy holiday here.
I have to get going.
My tea kettle is whistling.
Tom and Jerry and I have a lot of shopping to do.
After we catch up a bit.
I think you should do the same, Miss O'Hara.