How’d you get here so fast? Let me help you --pause, as I kick holiday's tuchas (Yiddish for butt)-- out the back door. Oops, sorry. I forgot I was wearing stilettos. Well, while you’re down there, I’ve gotta say something. Who invited you anyway? What with all that tinsel and sparkle, you think you’re hot to trot. Sweetie, you’re wrong. You don’t bring on the cheer. You incite increased need for Prozac. You multiply family tensions a gazillionfold. All this forced focus on love and happiness just makes us think about our losses and what we don’t have. Face it. You’re a downer, darling.
Financial problems torment us already. There you go, sauntering in, all flirty and stuff. Next thing we know, we have to buy gifts for people we don’t even like. Plus, we have to see them, and eat with them, and even hug them.
On the other hand, ever been alone between Halloween and Valentine’s Day? I can’t even grab a bite to eat without incident. Wait-staff never get it. I always have to overemphasize the “one” factor. “Yes, I want a table for one. Yes, that’s ‘one’ as in ‘one.’ Me. Yep. I’m alone again this holiday season. Just seat me in that decrepit booth in the corner. Toss me a box of tissue, a bag to wear over my head, and a bottle of whiskey. I’ll be just fine. All one of me. Oh, quit looking at me with sympathy. I could be on a date, but have you read my dating stories? I'm better off, all one of me, at a table for one. Yes, just one."
What’s up with fruitcake, anyway? It’s got no business calling itself a cake. Cake is neither ugly nor gross.
Alright, I’ve knocked you down long enough. Come on in, and leave the chocolate-peppermint fudge on the counter. You can come back next year, but only if you bring some more and depart quickly.