Twas the Day After Christmas…now what?
Well, here it is. The most dreaded day of the year.
Yep, the day that symbolizes everything you might dread about Christmas. It’s the day when you are required to RECOVER from the madness of the holiday rush. Not only do many people have to go to work, but in the middle of “back to life as normal” you are required to:
1. Clean up the DISASTER that you call “the house”.
2. Take back all the stuff that either didn’t fit, you didn’t like, or got two of.
3. Keep the kids from strangling each other because they are “bored”.
Let’s deal with these one at a time, shall we?
1. Clean up the DISASTER that you call “the house”. Have you noticed that your beautifully decorated home looks like an Iraqi war zone after Christmas? How does this happen? Do Santa’s elves secretly sneak into the house, climb the Christmas tree, tear things into bits and pieces and have a food fight? Perhaps. Chances are, however, that your very own family…yes, your own flesh and blood, took care of that for you. It appears that every good habit that you have tried to instill into your family is thrown right out the window when it comes to Christmas Day. As a parent, I imagine the conversation going like this:
Child #1: “Hey, lets take the ashes from the fireplace and make chalk drawings on the walls!”
Child #2: “Do you think we should do that? I once drew on my wall and Mommy took away my Game Boy for a WEEK!”
Child #1: “Yeah, I remember that. But you forget: it’s CHRISTMAS DAY!”
Child #2: “Oh YEAH! Okay, I get THAT wall!”
Then the fun begins. What is a parent to do? You can’t really YELL at them. That would scar them forever:
Patient to psychiatrist: “I guess I started hearing the voices on that Christmas night when Dad tore into me for using ashes to draw on the wall. I’ve never been the same since….”
So as a parent, you have to lower the standards on Christmas Day. You watch helplessly as 16 rolls of Christmas paper are torn into bits and pieces, strewn around the house, giving the equivalent of 153 rolls of Christmas paper. (I would venture to say this is almost the modern-day equivalent of Jesus’ miracle with the five loaves and two fish…except nobody gets fed and you have to clean up the mess.)
Thus, on the Day after Christmas, you are faced with the (very very painful) task of cleaning up the mess. This has, in fact, often led to the following conversation:
Patient to psychiatrist: “I guess the day I became angry was that day after Christmas when I had to clean up the ashes on the wall and 153 rolls of torn-up Christmas paper….”
Now on to number two:
2. Take back all the stuff that either didn’t fit, you didn’t like, or got two of.
Stop and consider this: when you consider how many “things” there are in this world, what are the CHANCES that you will get TWO of these “things” on a Christmas Day? Further, what are the chances that these things will be things that you HATE ENOUGH to battle the (brutal) crowds to take it back for “store credit” at a store you would never shop at? Lastly, what are the chances that you receive something that is of the size that not only does not fit YOU, but someone you KNOW (thus preventing you from having to battle the (brutal) crowds to take it back for “store credit” at a store you would never shop at)? As perplexing as it is, the fact remains that each of us has to do just that: battle the crowds to take back a gift for “store credit” at a store you would never shop at.
I don’t know about you, but I absolutely HATE going to THAT store…you know the store I’m talking about. THAT store. They’re EVERYWHERE. You’re greeted by a lady who is death-warmed-over. She sticks a sticker onto your item and directs you to the “customer service” section where returns are processed. As you make the turn in that direction, you see a line that you’d normally see at an amusement park’s most popular ride. The difference, however, is that YOU decided to join the amusement park line. This time, however, one of your RELATIVES or “Friends” (?) has FORCED you into this line.
You weave through the maze-like pathway and get in line, and wait. And wait. And wait some more. When you finally get far enough to the front (which takes about 17 hours), you see that they have ONE, yes ONE cashier processing the returns. Meanwhile, you have watched numerous clerks stand outside to “take a smoke” or “stand guard” at the exit doors, making sure nobody steals a box of fresh baked (?) donuts from the bakery.
This is the most painful experience known to man. I’d much rather have my eyeballs gouged out with a rusty fork than endure this. The cashier is running in slow-mo. She need caffeine. She needs sugar. I offer to buy her both, but she looks at me with a blank stare. I realize that she has been “deprogrammed” as a human being and is now a robot-like creature, programmed to (very slowly and methodically) take up space in this “superstore” warehouse of savings. I look for a “fast forward” button on her “I CAN HELP!” smiley face button, but no luck.
Meanwhile, the crowd begins to stir. Tempers flare. People begin to take out their frustrations on each other.
Shopper #1; “Hey! Quit falling asleep on my shoulder!”
Shopper #2: “Relax, I’ve been here 16 hours! Besides, you sat on my son 3 hours ago, and I had to call the paramedics!
Shopper #3: “Hey, shut up up there! I’m trying to get some sleep!”
Shopper #1: “Did you say SHUT UP??! You wanna piece of me??!!”
Shopper #3: “Bring it on, chump!!!”
Shopper #1: “Okay…I will….uh, hey, Grandma is that YOU??”
Shopper #3: “Oh, hello Rudy. Yes, it’s me. How long you been here?”
Shopper #1: “17 hours. Hey, did you like that blouse I gave you for Christmas?”
Shopper #3: “Didn’t fit. I’m here to return it.”
So who wants to put up with all THAT? But alas, we have to. We always seem to get those “things” on Christmas Day that necessitate this (very very painful) experience.
This experience often leads to the following conversation:
Patient to psychiatrist: “I guess I started feeling like strangling people is when I had to stand in line at the “Supercenter” for 19 hours, when a fat woman sat on my son….”
Lastly, the THIRD requirement for the Day After Christmas:
3. Keep the kids from strangling each other because they are “bored”.
How on earth can this happen? The day AFTER Christmas, the kids will inevitably claim they are “bored”. The day AFTER they receive an ipod which they promptly filled with all sorts of tunes (“But Dad, it’s all music I already HAD! I need to go online and spend $600 on tunes that I’ll get bored of TOMORROW!”). The day AFTER they got a new Game Boy game (“But Dad, I already go to level 17, and then the game started OVER!”) The day AFTER they got a basketball (“But Dad, it’s RAINING outside! If you’d get off the computer you’d KNOW that!”) The day AFTER they drew chalk drawings on the wall using fireplace ashes.
Sheesh. What does it take to keep today’s kids ENTERTAINED? This “boredom experience” has often lead to the following conversation:
Patient to psychiatrist: “I guess I started torturing innocent animals was when Dad wouldn’t let us doing anything EXCITING after Christmas…..”
Well, I have it all figured out:
The (bored) kids will clean the house (that’s basically why we have them anyway, isn’t it? To do stuff for us parents?). After that, they’ll take our returns to THAT store and use them as “place markers” in the returns line. I’ll give them a quarter to use in the pay phone to call me when we’re number two in line. That will give me enough time to eat dinner, wash the car, stop by the dry cleaner and get to THAT store in time for the return process, which will take approximately 45 minutes. Man, I’m a genius!
Suddenly, this day doesn’t seem so bad.
