The thing that I hate most about christmas – what I really, really hate about christmas – is that I hate chistmas. Whilst this might seem somewhat hypocritical, given I posted for all of this month about the things that I hate about christmas, nonetheless the question I have to ask myself is why do I hate it?
Christmas is meant to be a joyous time of celebration, good cheer and good fellowship, of gaiety and laughter, surrounded by family and friends, right?
Whats to hate about that?
I mean yes, I’m a misanthrope but where did that come from? I’m certainly not going to engage in some cod-analysis of my childhood to get answers; as such an exercise might be nothing more than a post event rationalization that provides a comfortable narrative.
Suffice to say that my childhood was certainly the root of it all, and telling a young girl a white lie about Santa Clause existing, is proof that at christmas miracles sometimes do happen.