Humbug

I’m opting out. I’m opting out of everything: capitalism, relationships, social conformity, the legal system, fashion and especially Christmas.
I do not want to take part, thank you very much. I don’t want to traipse around town looking for gifts that will be under-appreciated and consigned to the we’ll-find-some-use-for-it-but-for-now-we’ll-hide-it-under-the-bed pile. I don’t want to write any Christmas cards – but I’ll have to. For God’s sake, I’m an atheist!
I do want to drink to excess and tell my parents things I would never tell them when sober. And I do want to see those friends I haven’t seen for six months. I do want to eat the turkey and all that chocolate. I don’t want the have-you-got-a-girlfriend conversations with distant relatives. Please don’t make me go through another Christmas.

Next year I’m going to rent a cottage in the middle of nowhere. It’ll just be me and the television and bottle of the strong stuff. I’ll wake up at noon to a big cup of coffee with croissants, then slam a Marks & Sparks’ Christmas dinner for one in the oven. After I’ve eaten, I’ll go for a long walk in the rolling hills to clear my head before heading to the pub for a booze-up with total strangers, who I’ll invite back to the cottage for a knees-up. We’ll drink so much that we decide to go skinny dipping in the freezing-cold local stream (beck), but collapse in a heap before we manage to get so much as our socks off.
The next day, I won’t remember any of their names and they won’t remember mine, because that’s the way we prefer it.
Do have a happy Christmas, just don’t expect me to join in.