What I Hate about Christmas

I prop little books on my kitchen window sills. I've swapped out my normal ones for Christmas ones. One is Christmas Joy by Susan Branch. One is Christmas Miracles by Jamie C. Miller, Laura Lewis and Jennifer Basye Sander. They're both lovely and inspiring books.

But my personal favorite and the one that gets the center spot is: Ethel Burke's What I hate about Christmas. It's a little odd that it's a man (Ed Strnad) writing as a woman but once you flip through it, you tend to forget that bizarre fact.

It's filled with hundreds of little things to hate about Christmas. I'll just give you a random sampling:

Puzzling over a card with no return address and a first name only signature.
When your tree resembles the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
People who send cheap gifts in Tiffany boxes.
Trying to locate the one dead bulb that knocks out the whole string of Christmas lights.
When you tell a religious person that, technically, December 25th was not Jesus' birthday and they get really upset.
The song, All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.
People who drive around while wearing a Santa hat.
Nostalgia for the days when children were overjoyed to get an orange.

Here's what I hate about this Christmas:

Oldies are still falling like acorns off the oak tree. I'm terrified they won't take their trip to Texas.
Our impersonal tree. (I love the tree; I just miss the ornaments. I'm attracted to clutter.)

I can get wrapped up in the stress and silliness of the season. Yes, it's over-commercialized. But I rally myself and I still enjoy (most of) it. When I get a little frustrated or gloomy, I browse through this book and have a chuckle.
The other day, the mother-in-law said about the book on the window sill, "This doesn't seem very nice." I said, "Don't touch it."

Since I'm starting to speak to them like the dog, I should've said, "Paws on the ground!"