Bah Humbug!

I am not a Christmasy person. Forgive me for this, I know to some of you, Christmas is more wonderful and life affirming than I could possibly imagine. You lucky people are just dying to place a jaunty red elf’s hat on your head and write cards to people you will never see again, or possibly never met in the first place. For you, putting up the tree is as satisfying as conquering Everest, untangling reams of Christmas lights is ‘fun’ and having drinks with work colleagues is a ‘treat’. You are the kind of people that say ‘strangers are just friends I haven’t met yet’.

You like the taste of mulled wine. You think chestnuts taste good.

And then there are the presents.  I don’t like receiving presents as there is seriously nothing I desire except some little disposable cloths to clean my glasses with. I have legs, I can buy these. I don’t need them wrapping. I find it hard to show the correct eye-watering enthusiasm when unwrapping. ‘SOCKS!!!! Christ! A BOOOK!’

As for buying presents for people, well I have to do that, under duress. I do it with all of the enthusiam of a child going shopping for a new school uniform, or someone on Death Row having their head measured for the electric chair. That’s not to say I don’t get presents for people. To not do so is unthinkable. That is the power of Christmas. You can’t just say to a crying 10 year old ‘ No I didn’t get you anything, you see, I’m just not a Christmasy person’.

Being around Christmasy people is difficult for me. I am outed almost immediately as an outsider. It’s like that scene in Invasion Of The Body Snatchers when everyone points at Donald Sutherland and screams. The signs are too easy to spot; I fail to be aroused by spray snow. A kindly offered cookie decorated with Reindeers does not receive the correct ‘cooing’ response from me. I am not good with tinsel. My Jaw clenches when I hear Johnny Mathis. When I am discovered to be lacking in the requisite ‘festiveness’ I am confronted with pursed lips and sadly shaken heads (under elf hats at jaunty angles obviously). I am not invited to open a door on the advent calendar.

By far the worst thing about not being a Christmasy person though is the fact that Christmasy people just can’t believe it. It’s like telling someone you live in a house made of jam, or saying wasps are cute.

They think I’m secretly a Christmasy person. I know they do. They think I’m a comedy-curmudgeon. They’ve watched A Christmas Carol too many times and they presume that Scrooge-like I’ll suddenly wake up hooting with yuletide glee, rush outside in my pajamas and buy a turkey as big as an Emu. ‘You Can’t  not like Christmas. It’s like saying you didn't like ‘The Wire’. It’s unforgivable. It’s like not liking kittens.