Sunday, December 18, 2011

Santa Gets a Gift

Have you seen the traffic during the last week? Judging by the thickness of it, I’m betting you have. Certainly none of us have worked, gone to school or done anything constructive, other than shop, for the last two weeks. I must admit Mary Carmen pulled me from under my rock, kicking and screaming, to endure the long anticipated, much avoided trip to the kingdoms of retail.
There are many. Target, we are the targets. K-Mart, let’s go there too, ok? Best Buy, it’s best to stay home and not buy. Belks or bust, in Sears we trust and a merry JC Penny to us all. Let us not forget the real kings of the holiday, Wall-Mart and big brother Sam’s have become the alter at which we kneel. Did you think for the slightest moment I was going to say something about Jesus back there? Jesus is relegated to those places that don’t accept credit cards and appears to have no place in Christmas as we now know it. In fact that statement is longer entirely true as you can hit the ATM inside churches mustn’t miss your opportunity to give your ten percent. I think that ten percent was originally earmarked for the needy, not meant to be taken up, packaged up and sent overseas to help those who presumably need Jesus more than our own homeless do.
I remember the saying, everything except the kitchen sink. That saying has evolved to everything including the kitchen sink and Wall-Mart stands accused of plagiarizing it. I’ve heard, every year, with no exceptions, that this year was a huge disappointment for retailers. Give me a break, we as Americans can only buy so much cheap stuff. Substitute another word for stuff if your imagination allows. Much of what we buy lasts much less time than the cost of it. The retailers make their part and then the card companies make three other peoples parts. We have broken cheap stuff and consumed up everything we buy, way before the ghost of Christmas to come, namely our credit card bill have come at all.
We wonder why we’re in trouble, we spend three times as much as we make and most of it during December, it’s not too hard to run the numbers and see the dead end road we’re careening down. It must be okay, after all our government runs along in front of us paving the way. Why are government officials and those in the credit industry so surprised by our actions? As all children do, we learn by example and emulate those in charge.
So back to the good stuff, the dirt on my being convinced to go Christmas shopping. We left the house with lunch packed. We shopped for so long I developed a hang nail, was cured of several diseases which didn’t have cures when we left home, witnessed several people die of old age in lines and grew a beard. I witnessed an assault which started over a pretty little pink sweater covered with little sheep, wise men and Jesus. I was served papers for the trial, was a witness in it and stood by as the verdict was handed down. I tell you that shopping trip was the longest three hours of my life.
Of course we only brought the gifts we had to buy, kids and grandkids, you understand? I being a good husband took care of Mary Carmen during a party we attended last week.
Ronald Regan was once given an extraordinary gift by the CIA, Bill Clinton was given the same gift so many times, his name is included in the definition of it. COE’s receive it on a regular basis and I’m giving it to Santa, its called plausible deniability. So on Christmas morning when Mary Carmen opens her gift. Frozen little cucumber sandwiches, cocktail weenies, sausage balls, various assorted peppermint and some of those olives stuffed with pimento cheese, impaled on a toothpick, which I stole from aforementioned party. She’ll most certainly file suit, and rightfully so, against him for not showing up at our house. During the ensuing trial he’ll be able to swear his oath, still shrug his shoulders and say, “I didn’t know, I never got a change of address” and unlike most who say it, he’ll be telling the truth. You’re welcome Santa.
Just once as the season progresses and we are constantly bombarded by the multitude of Christmas carols, not the least of which is, Grandmaw Got run Over By A Raindeer, I’d like to hear Happy Birthday sung to Jesus. So, plausible deniability to Santa and Happy Birthday to Jesus, what a great way to disguise my being cheap or just too broke to take part in the debt riddled frenzy called Christmas.
Happy Birthday dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to you.