Festivus. Right this very minute.
My mom starred as “Mame” in a local theater production. They put the show on in the summer, and she was perfect. With her red hair gleaming, she engaged the audience by singing “I Need a Little Christmas” while her family was crammed up in the hot balcony praying that the show would not be longer that an hour and a half. We were wrong. But, she was amazing. She is the epitome of Mame.
We were doing a mother/daughter little holiday shopping adventure last week, and she kept singing holiday songs all throughout the stores. When I was a young pup and she did this, I would get very embarrassed. She would shush me (irony goes here) and say, “No one knows us! Sing with me – you have such a pretty voice!” I would shrink behind her and try to act interested in whatever was around – aftershave, toilet paper, men’s briefs, diapers – anything. The latest adventure was a repertoire in Christmas, starting with Mame’s famous song, and then moving to such hits as Dolly Parton’s “Hard-Candy Christmas” which is actually from another musical entitled “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” (No, I am not making this up. This song is from that musical. Why do I know this? Because everyone in my family is obsessed with musicals and “…Whorehouse” is a fan fav.) I ducked into the baby bottle aisle and pretended to look interested. I haven’t had an infant since 2004. Ha.
Unfortunately, even my singing mother can’t pull me from the Bah Humbugs this year. I am in need of the Seinfeld tradition of Festivus to get me in the spirit. I need the airing of grievances, the Feats of Strength and the Festivus pole. I need a little holiday “for the rest of us.”
Sometimes it feels like Christmas has gone overboard with commercialism. I can’t say the last time since Halloween I have watched TV and there hasn’t been a “Shop for the Holidays” advertisement. My master decorator husband has a different perspective of Christmas. He loves it. He loves decorating the house for Christmas. He loves strategically arranging the different sized nutcrackers, red-cheeked Santas and oddly shaped holiday lights. He loves holiday serving dishware like Christmas tree Spode wine glasses and goblets or any platter donning a poinsettia or Frosty. He loves having pre-lit trees – three to be exact. One with glass ornaments, one with homemade ornaments and one with the rest – from Star Wars to Buzz Lightyear. He loves creating an outdoor light extravaganza just one step below Christmas Vacation. He even loves dragging me to big box stores and hunting for more Christmas decor. To put it mildly, he loves the holiday season.
But not me. I get stressed out with feeling inadequate. I don’t think I am a good gift buyer, and it really becomes an effort in futility as I scan through my beloved Amazon.com for something to pop out at me that may strike the fancy of someone in my family. I scour the emails from stores and loot the catalogs for the perfect gifts. You know what I end up finding? Stuff I want/need/have to have. That is not productive holiday shopping, my friend. No, not one bit.
So, I need a little Festivus. Actually, I would like to see a Festivus ad on TV right this very minute. Maybe one with a stressed out Mom on the screen and a deep- voiced narrator that states: “This year, you have cursed twelve times in front of your children, cut off two drivers getting into the drive-thru fast food line, butted in line in front of eight people at the post office, and returned six different items because you found them cheaper weeks later somewhere else. You need Festivus. Festivus. Making your holiday a reality check.”
So, if you want to share the humbugs, come and join me around my pole and get ready to take me on. I have been doing push-ups with my Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred so I am ready. Jingle all the way.