I realize now that part of my cheery seasonal outlook was due to the fact that until very recently all holidays were associated with some sort of extended vacation. Christmas always meant time off and free food while I snuggled like a spoiled bug in a rug down in their basement. Sleeping in, fresh homemade lattes and long walks to the park were about all I ever had to fit in around my "holiday shopping" in years past. It also meant that I usually hadn't seen my family for months so any and all quality time was cherished and novel.
Things have changed.
I'll be the last one to pretend that I am lacking in free time or flexibility in my life, but the whole notion of living in the same city as my family has sort of taken the sparkle out of the festivities. Holidays just don't feel "rare." I see my parents daily (they watch my dog while I "work"/shop/blog), and my desk LITERALLY touches my brothers... Plus we descend on mom for lunches, stop by on weekends for help with projects and regularly have family dinners. Its just sort of hard to feel excited about going out of my way to shop/cook/dress up for just another family dinner...
Now, the optimisitc side of me says "Gee Gingham, what a blessing! you work with your family, see parents every day, and regularly have lovely, entertaining dinners all together. Everyday is like Christmas for you!"
But the tired, local, cynical side of me questions why I even bother. Well as I've learned in the past week, it turns out that apparently, I don't really "bother" at all. This year brought record unpreparedness in terms of gift buying and an all time low with regard to inspriation. Fortunately I've caught up with myself and as of the most recent (unfortunate) trip to the Mall, I am DONE.
The Mall:
Now, this is a nice Mall, its bright, airy, has fancy shops with 'fancy' patrons and recently underwent a makeover that greatly increased the sophistication associated with clomping around from store to store. In theory this should have been easy. I enlisted my mother to take me, so as to avoid holiday parking fiascoes and having to stalk exiting shoppers laden with bags back to their cars then wait (with blinker on) as they slowly load up the trunks of their Lexus SUVs and struggle to shove their requisite adorably dressed toddler into some sort of child seat, while what feels like hundreds of cars line up behind me impatiently. So thanks mom, I appreciate you helping me avoid that particular pitfall of shopping. (really. I do.)
You can appreciate then, that since I had a chauffeur and had called ahead to have my item held and ready for pick up, that I figured this would be a brief, low stress encounter.
Which, for the most part it was. I suppose the trauma came from being completely unprepared for the scene of people which was more reminiscent of a rural county fair circa 1987, than high end shoppers calmly looking for their perfect holiday packages... First of all, people are gross. For the most part everyone was either sneezing, coughing, drooling or by some other measure secreting some sort of liquid. I was instantly grossed out. Also, as I entered at an end of the mall not usually frequented by me, I was forced to walk by the indoor McDonald's (this is gross on its own.. where do they pump all their sick grease fumes? I swear to god its muggier and stickier near that McDonald's than anywhere else inside the shopping complex... sicker). But today, my first challenge was negotiating my way around the extensive line of people anxiously awaiting their reconstituted meat sandwiches. Trying to cut through a line of angry hateful hungry shoppers is difficult as most of them are willing to first assume that you are attempting to cut in line. This is confusing for people and I think that I only managed to enrage a few grown men as I found a small gap and dashed through attempting to not look anyone in the eye or look back at the carnage.
It is also unending.
I tried to renegotiate my path so as to avoid the Santa line, but I underestimated it and every turn required at least one (if not two) crossings of gross, snotting, sneezing, liquid-secreting little kids and their manic, crazed looking, desperate parents.
Screaming Child (note the liquid secretion)
----------------------->
The rest of my dash was a blackout. I remember only stepping on a squeak toy and making an unfortunate realization that a lady's shirt had a horizontal zipper across her chest in order to provide immediate access for her slobbery kid to attach itself to her breasts. This also explained why her breasts appeared to be secreting liquid, as indicated by her somewhat damp shirt...
I purchased my one and only treasure from the trip without instance (safe in the quiet, calm walls of a luxury goods store) and used the newly accquired high quality (and firm) shopping bag to clear my path as I scurried out of the craziness. Emerging back into the daylight I felt a little like an action hero at the end of a movie when they are safely helicoptering away from some swirling, screaming tangle of mummies, zombies and terror behind them.
If I am ever to attempt that crap again it will not be without McCloud at my side as a competent tackle and a flask of Jameson on my hip for courage.
Now its time for some serious wrapping...
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