He still has nightmares. Sometimes, people ask me why I'm so grouchy around this time of year. These people are taking their lives into their own hands. However, I do have a simple explanation: others have made me this way.
Jason, for instance, would argue that he does everything he can to put me in the Christmas spirit. I can tell you that his methods are faulty. It's taken him a long time to realize that not only do I not find it funny when he puts on holiday videos that he knows I despise (i.e. all of them, with the exception of the outstanding A Wish For Wings That Work) but it's also a good way to get me to empty the contents of his underwear drawer, soak the whole lot in cold water, and dump everything in the freezer.
Just yesterday, he popped in a video of A Christmas Story. Now how could I possibly not enjoy this little tale of a boy who wants a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas, you ask? This movie is full of terrible lessons and yes, I'll say it, racism. First of all, throughout the whole movie, all of the adults tell Ralphie he'll shoot his eye out with that dumb gun. So what does he do when he gets it? He practically shoots his eye out. Perhaps he should've taken the hint and saved up his allowance for safety goggles, and this wouldn't have happened. Then he lies to his mother about almost shooting his eye out. Clearly, this film encourages children to lie to their parents. That's a terrible lesson.
Also, I don't like that Ralphie beats up that redheaded kid for no other reason than he's a redhead. (I think. I wasn't really paying attention.) For centuries, gingers have been put to death simply because of the color of their hair. So this movie teaches kids to discriminate based on looks. Why would I want to watch this racist crap?
Perhaps you think I should try another activity, like decorating the tree. I'll admit this would have the potential to un-grinch my heart, but because I have two cats who are inclined to misbehave, this isn't as fun as it sounds. When I unpacked the blinking snowflake tree lights, I plugged them in and immediately electrocuted myself. It turns out Wednesday had been using them as kitty dental floss, and the wires had been stripped bare. Bad cat. Bad cat!
How the tree is decorated is also largely influenced by the cats. All of the nice ornaments have to go up top, and the cheap ones hang low, since the cats think the whole tree is their plaything. So the top foot of my tree is crammed full of adorable cow ornaments, and the bottom half is sparsely decorated with Jason's Coca-Cola ornaments. The cats manage to take down and destroy about three ornaments a day, and I'm certainly not going to let those little demons get their claws on my cute ice-skating cow with a scarf. (I should also mention that I had to decorate the tree myself. If you're not going to help, then you're not allowed to complain when your Coca-Cola Santa ornament becomes a casualty.) Plus we can't put silver icicles on the tree, because it could kill the cats if they eat it (and they will). I have at least two aunts that would never speak to me again if Wednesday died of silver icicle ingestion.
Finally, nobody in the house will cooperate with me at all when I do try to do something fun, like make a cute video of the cats in Christmas hats. (See epic failure below.)
So why am I a humbug? Because the people and animals in my house made me that way.
Jason, for instance, would argue that he does everything he can to put me in the Christmas spirit. I can tell you that his methods are faulty. It's taken him a long time to realize that not only do I not find it funny when he puts on holiday videos that he knows I despise (i.e. all of them, with the exception of the outstanding A Wish For Wings That Work) but it's also a good way to get me to empty the contents of his underwear drawer, soak the whole lot in cold water, and dump everything in the freezer.
Just yesterday, he popped in a video of A Christmas Story. Now how could I possibly not enjoy this little tale of a boy who wants a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas, you ask? This movie is full of terrible lessons and yes, I'll say it, racism. First of all, throughout the whole movie, all of the adults tell Ralphie he'll shoot his eye out with that dumb gun. So what does he do when he gets it? He practically shoots his eye out. Perhaps he should've taken the hint and saved up his allowance for safety goggles, and this wouldn't have happened. Then he lies to his mother about almost shooting his eye out. Clearly, this film encourages children to lie to their parents. That's a terrible lesson.
Also, I don't like that Ralphie beats up that redheaded kid for no other reason than he's a redhead. (I think. I wasn't really paying attention.) For centuries, gingers have been put to death simply because of the color of their hair. So this movie teaches kids to discriminate based on looks. Why would I want to watch this racist crap?
Perhaps you think I should try another activity, like decorating the tree. I'll admit this would have the potential to un-grinch my heart, but because I have two cats who are inclined to misbehave, this isn't as fun as it sounds. When I unpacked the blinking snowflake tree lights, I plugged them in and immediately electrocuted myself. It turns out Wednesday had been using them as kitty dental floss, and the wires had been stripped bare. Bad cat. Bad cat!
How the tree is decorated is also largely influenced by the cats. All of the nice ornaments have to go up top, and the cheap ones hang low, since the cats think the whole tree is their plaything. So the top foot of my tree is crammed full of adorable cow ornaments, and the bottom half is sparsely decorated with Jason's Coca-Cola ornaments. The cats manage to take down and destroy about three ornaments a day, and I'm certainly not going to let those little demons get their claws on my cute ice-skating cow with a scarf. (I should also mention that I had to decorate the tree myself. If you're not going to help, then you're not allowed to complain when your Coca-Cola Santa ornament becomes a casualty.) Plus we can't put silver icicles on the tree, because it could kill the cats if they eat it (and they will). I have at least two aunts that would never speak to me again if Wednesday died of silver icicle ingestion.
Finally, nobody in the house will cooperate with me at all when I do try to do something fun, like make a cute video of the cats in Christmas hats. (See epic failure below.)
So why am I a humbug? Because the people and animals in my house made me that way.
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