Jingle Hell

 

Christmas night… The family circus is in full swing!

Laughter echoes through the house, plastering fake cheer over a night of forced togetherness; and I’m here, sitting among them, pretending to bask in the glow of it all, when in reality, I couldn’t care less. Not about Christmas itself, I mean, lights and mulled wine are fine, but I’m talking about the façade we all put on.

.   .   .

The charade starts with the usual suspects: polite smiles, generic compliments, and way too enthusiastic exclamations over gifts that no one actually wanted. “Oh wow, another sweater! You shouldn’t have!”… Yeah, they really shouldn’t. By the time the first bottle of wine is half-empty, the conversations begin to fray; laughter grows sharper, words become weapons, and everyone forgets that this night was supposed to be merry.

.   .   .

Let’s not ignore the irony. People throw money at Christmas like it’s a slot machine that’ll spit out happiness; decorations, lavish meals, overpriced gifts… it’s a spending spree fueled by guilt and obligation. And then comes January, and the same people will be whining about how they’re broke. A financial hangover to go with their champagne one I guess.

.   .   .

And then there’s the inevitable showdown; a Christmas classic! Some petty argument that snowballs into a full-blown fight. Maybe it’s politics, maybe it’s a forgotten slight from a decade ago, maybe it’s just the third glass of whiskey talking… Whatever the spark, the fire is always predictable.

I sit there, watching it unfold, wondering why we keep doing this to ourselves. Pretending we enjoy each other’s company when, deep down, we’re just fulfilling a tradition that’s lost its meaning. A play with no audience, a script we’ve all memorized but no longer believe in.

.   .   .

So yeah, Merry Christmas or whatever. I’ll be over here with my drink, silently rooting for the argument to start, just so I can slip out unnoticed.