I Want, I Want, I Need, I Need
I am just amazed at the people lined up at every store. I'm even more amazed that now people are actually skipping their Thanksgiving Dinner to do it.
Perhaps it's just that I hate everything about the mall experience from the 'Can I help you?' the minute you walk in the door on to feeling nauseated while you stand in line behind someone who wants to talk to you about their putrid life just because you're standing behind them to the swiping of the credit card to throw something in your cart that you don't really want or need.
Do you know that most kids of a certain age are content to play with the box that the shit comes in?
And if you really held a gun to my head and asked me what I wanted for Christmas I couldn't mention a single thing.
And they do hold guns to each other's heads out there. Someone shot someone else over a parking spot in Florida.
Ah well, it was in Florida, who cares?
But, yes, my beautiful wife was out there. She even dragged a hoodlum with her each day. Jake went on Thursday night while Sam sat beside me as I worked my way through the thirty-one pounds of stuffing we ate. We watched football. He talked. I listened.
Mom did the stuffing...Corinne nailed the potatoes and everyone chipped in, but Jim did most of the heavy lifting. We laughed a bit, sulked some, and hung tight to the things that really mattered.
Right up until shopping time.
And since it really doesn't matter to me if I know anything about a subject before ripping it to shreds, I sort of wonder what the appeal is.
I would much rather spend an extra twenty, thirty or even forty dollars on something if I could do it without having to say excuse me to some rude son-of-a-bitch who wants to fight me for it.
But then again, I never put a lot of stock in the 'things'.
Of course, that's not to say I don't smile a little when I see how happy the kids are on Christmas morning and when I realize that my beautiful wife did a lot to make it happen.
But my job is to bitch, right?
So bitching I will do.
Hell, I might even write a Christmas song about it.
Perhaps it's just that I hate everything about the mall experience from the 'Can I help you?' the minute you walk in the door on to feeling nauseated while you stand in line behind someone who wants to talk to you about their putrid life just because you're standing behind them to the swiping of the credit card to throw something in your cart that you don't really want or need.
Do you know that most kids of a certain age are content to play with the box that the shit comes in?
And if you really held a gun to my head and asked me what I wanted for Christmas I couldn't mention a single thing.
And they do hold guns to each other's heads out there. Someone shot someone else over a parking spot in Florida.
Ah well, it was in Florida, who cares?
But, yes, my beautiful wife was out there. She even dragged a hoodlum with her each day. Jake went on Thursday night while Sam sat beside me as I worked my way through the thirty-one pounds of stuffing we ate. We watched football. He talked. I listened.
Mom did the stuffing...Corinne nailed the potatoes and everyone chipped in, but Jim did most of the heavy lifting. We laughed a bit, sulked some, and hung tight to the things that really mattered.
Right up until shopping time.
And since it really doesn't matter to me if I know anything about a subject before ripping it to shreds, I sort of wonder what the appeal is.
I would much rather spend an extra twenty, thirty or even forty dollars on something if I could do it without having to say excuse me to some rude son-of-a-bitch who wants to fight me for it.
But then again, I never put a lot of stock in the 'things'.
Of course, that's not to say I don't smile a little when I see how happy the kids are on Christmas morning and when I realize that my beautiful wife did a lot to make it happen.
But my job is to bitch, right?
So bitching I will do.
Hell, I might even write a Christmas song about it.
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