Dear Christmas,
As a fan of you even though you don't really give us as much as you promised from all the advertisements and the sly looks from parents, teachers, friends and wherein we always end up penniless and scrambling to pay rent because we don't want to look stingy and we know we aren't stingy, but WE HAVE NO MONEY THIS YEAR OR ANY YEAR---but still don't get what we really want---we'd like to ask for a raincheck. Can we put off this year until some time in the unforeseeable future years from now when we will be out of school and out of debt with better jobs and a happy cat at our feet---and not barely scraping by? We don't want to be rude because we know you are all chocolate santa-y, furry costumes over fat bellies and we are not supposed to be weirded out that we eat santa, so we don't ever speak about it. We just bite off his head and then ignore the part where we eat his chocolatey insides. Tongues inside eyes rolled back. Are we really not supposed to be afraid if an intruder in our homes FAT and dressed like santa with red and white rascally patches up and down his arms and on his bloated from drinking too much Santa juice on his face (without the gift we have been praying to the lord Jesus for)? WE, as a nation are creeped out and hate those weird squeaking toys that get caught in a child's hair as much as you do. We are not ignorant! We just want to eat our toffee silently on our couches and check out for a while in a sugary coma all our own. We don't want to go to consumer heaven wherein we are applauded for our taste and lack of taste and whispered about as in we are too good to be true or in turns so stuck up that we are the only one on planet earth with such audacity to buy such a perfectly silverlake cool gift that means nothing and does nothing. We don't want to wear sparkly dresses or glittery makeup and pretend not to be sad. This year, Christmas, we'd like to give you the give of honesty. You suck and have always sucked except for that one year where there was an ACTUAL BIKE in our living room. That year where our disappointment was not palpable to our poor trying hard but too poor to do anything about it in the RIGHT way families. Had they just said they were poor, we would have understood--but they were trying to be rich in thought if not in action. So, Christmas, we'd like to break up with you. You don't do it for us in any of the ways we need it from you. You don't ask us out, you don't come over when we tell you to, you are a tease who promises sparkly happiness that never manifests. We are done. You were never as good as we imagined you to be and that makes everyone feel sad and shitty when they have nowhere and no one. What of the homeless---they don't get to go anywhere or the right present either. They are lonely--and Christmas makes them lonelier. So, Christmas, Goodbye and good-luck. As always, we will try to stay away from you because you are bad for us, but you will invade our every waking moment, just like you do every year. We are your whores with our skirts up and no fight in us left. You suck and we all think so. The end.
Signed,
Your Bitches
