I love the holidays. Really. Peace on Earth, good will, yadda yadda. It's all goodness. It's all lurvly. (And, if you go to certain nameless uber-huge big box megastores, it's all Christmas -- nary a dreidle in sight. Whatev, as the kids say today.)
And it's also a huge pain in the toochas.
Take cards, for example. Now, I'm all about scaring up addresses and doing the card thing (yes, dead-tree cards instead of environmentally friendly e-cards) and spreading good cheer and damn the paper cuts and the looooooooong freaking lines at the post office. But will someone please tell me what the hell is up with all the effing GLITTER? It's like someone chopped up this model's dress and purse, added tons more sparkly crap, sneezed, added even more sparkly crap, and then puked the silver stuff all over the damn cards. The worst part, of course, is that sparkly crap is all over the envelopes, the table, my hands, my Precious Little Tax Deduction's lunch for tomorrow...everything. Gah. Whoever invented the sparkly crap for holiday cards must be the same evil pervert who invented toys that make noise. Or fruitcake.
Speaking of toys, that's another joy of the season. Yes, toys are marvelous. Me love toys. But WHO THE HELL decided they should be impossible to remove from the packaging without a blowtorch, pliers, and some heartfelt curses? Come on, are the toy manufacturers really that worried that Someone With No Scruples is going to really swipe Barbie's ultravoguealicious hubcaps off her dream machine whatchamahoozitzmobile? Me, I think the manufacturers all bought stock in the company that makes those twisty tie thingies. It has to be a conspiracy. (Has to, I tell you.)
Let's not even get into the whole Wrapping The Gifts nightmare. I must be the only person who somehow can take a square package and wrap it enough so that it looks round. (You should see how I load the dishwasher. I give Loving Husband a case of the nerves.) Thank God for those spiffy gift bag things.
I do love the season. I swear.
But next year, I think I'll need a Cabin Boy to do all the carding, shopping and wrapping.
Oh, Loving Husband...?