Violent Acres

I hate Christmas. There. I said it. Christmas is nothing more than consumer gluttony masked as religious sentimentality. Why you people dig yourselves into a mountain of debt to buy crap that no one wants for people you don’t even like is beyond me. But that’s beside the point.

Even more than the actual holiday, I hate Christmas trees. Loathe them. Despise them. Haaaaaaatttttte them. But, it wasn’t always like that. In fact, just last year I demanded that we display a Christmas tree. At first, I insisted on a real one, but my husband deftly talked me out of it citing the ridiculous upkeep time you need to water it and keep the needles off of the floor. So, we bought a fake one. A pre-lit one so we wouldn’t have to dick around with tangled strands of lights next year. We think ahead.

After we brought it home and decorated it, I enjoyed it for all of 15 seconds. Then my cats hurled their little bodies into it and started racing to the top, destroying glass bulbs and bending plastic branches on their way up. I tried to dissuade them with water bottles, air guns, and other various cat torture products, but I just couldn’t keep those fuckers out of my tree. I was constantly vacuuming up glass, re-adjusting tussled garland, and glaring at my symbol of fake religious sentimentality in abject misery.

One weekend we had the kids for a visit and I awoke one morning to find my husband’s daughter playing under the Christmas tree. It would have been a picture perfect scene if she weren’t surrounded by piles of broken glass from last nights’ feline rampage. I sharply warned her not to move and then bent over and carefully lifted her out of the mess. I took a step backwards….and promptly stepped on a glass bulb.

I shrieked and called for my husband to come get his daughter before I dropped her. He obliged. Then I shrieked again when I realized that I was bleeding all over brand new plush white carpet. I thrust my foot into a basket of clean laundry because it was likely that the laundry cost less than the carpet. Even in the midst of white hot pain, I still manage to be cost effective.

After cleaning myself up, I examined the bottom of my foot. There was small puncture wound in my heel that hurt worse than it looked. I slapped a spongebob band-aid on it, poured myself a drink, and called it a day.

Except….a week later my foot still hurt. I examined it a little closer and some puss squirted out. Obviously, my foot was infected, so I went to the doctor. There, my doctor cut my small puncture wound a half of inch wider and removed the glass that I left in there with a pair of tweezers. I screamed like a little bitch during the entire process. It fucking hurt.

When I got home, I ruthlessly began disassembling the Christmas tree.

“What are you doing?” my husband inquired.

“Throwing this junk out,” I snapped in reply.

“It’s all brand new,” he mused, “Shouldn’t we donate it or something?”

“And curse another family? That’s not very fucking Christian.”

I hauled the remains of my bad choice out to the curb. After owning a tree for approximately three weeks, I vowed I’d never own one again.

But there’s always a catch, isn’t there? In this country, it is nearly impossible to refuse to own something without some nosey fuck implying that you’re an idiot for not making the same life choices that they did. I went through this when I refused to own a cell phone and I was about to go through this again over a Christmas fucking tree….and I don’t even really believe in God.

In my particular case, the catch is my Mother-in-law.

“The kids tell me that you don’t have a Christmas tree this year,” She questioned me this weekend.

“No.” I answered, “We do not.”

“Why not?”

“Because we do not like them.”

“Well, I’ll buy you one, if you want….”

This is really typical of my Mother-in-law. When we say we don’t wish to buy something, she automatically assumes that the reason we don’t want it is because we don’t want to spend the money. It is inconceivable to her that we may just NOT WANT SOMETHING.

“Carol,” I insisted, “The issue is not money. I bought a Christmas tree last year, brand new, and I threw it out because we didn’t enjoy it.”

“What about the kids?”

This is also typical of my Mother-in-law. When we refuse to blow loads of money on the whim of a 9 year old, she will imply that we’re cruelly depriving them of oxygen or something. God forbid children should enter a house without the presence of a Christmas tree. Poor things might just keel over dead in misery.

“The kids have a Christmas tree at their Mother’s house. They also have two at your house. At our house, they will have to learn to be satisfied with their usual pile of presents.”

“But–,” she continued.

At this point, I was losing my temper so I’m afraid it was my very intense glare that cut her off. With my eyes, I tried to communicate a very crucial message to my dear Mother-in-law:

‘Say one more thing about a Christmas tree. Say one more thing, I fucking dare you. Because I swear to God, if you do, I will set your house on fire.’

She shut up and to date, there is no Christmas tree in my house. I win again.

Now you might read this entry and assume that it is nothing more than idle bitching about my Mother-in-law. And for the most part, you’d be right. But like I said before, when making a life decision that goes against the grain, a person always faces an individual that I happen to call ‘The Catch.’ In my case, my Catch is my Mother-in-law, but in yours it could be your best friend, your grandma, your message board buddies, or even your spouse. This holiday season, I’d like to see everyone JUST ONCE look their Catches in the eye and tell them to fuck off.

That freeing moment of lightness in your life is my Christmas present to you.

You’re Welcome.

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