Call Me Scrooge

I've been getting a lot of guff lately for going against tradition this year by skipping out on the whole gift exchange thing. Everyone I know has been frazzled because they can't seem to find the time, money or creativity to get the right gifts for anyone. I'm sure that none of my family or friends would (really) appreciate whatever stupid gift I got for them, so I decided to bag it this year. I don't understand what the big deal is. A bunch of my friends think I'm a Scrooge.

I know, I work in a business that depends upon the gift exchange mentality, and it's not as if my family and friends don't deserve to be rewarded for putting up with me all year, but I think I have deeply rooted phobias about gift exchange that take me back to the 3rd grade...

...I was a wee lad of 8 or 9 when there was to be a Secret Santa type event in my class. Everyone brought a gift to give anonymously to a classmate. Everyone, that is, except yours truly. I was a forgetful kid, though, and I did not want to be scolded for not participating, so I told no one about my mistake. Somehow, it wasn't noticed that I added nothing to the pile of gifts. The presents were passed out, and I felt that it worked out perfectly. I even received a toy (one of those little spinning wheels that spin up and down the metal handle when you swing it back and forth. Everything was fine until Frank, one of my classmates, started crying that he had no present. He assured the teacher and assistant that he brought a gift, the principal came in, a brief investigation was conducted, then before I knew it, my little spinning wheel present was ripped from my clutch and given to Frank. I cried then, just like Frank, but all I got was a lousy popcorn ball from the teacher's assistant.

Much later, when I reached what some like to call adulthood, I had the misfortune of having my wonderful sexually free female friend help me pick out a gift for my new bitchy sexually repressed girlfriend at Victoria's Oh-La-La palace. Needless to say, I was meant to feel like the worst boyfriend ever. To this day I curse myself for chosing the wrong girl. Always go with sexually free. Always.

Anyway, back to Christmas. I'll take the lights, the music, the merriment. You can keep the shopping, the credit card bills and the gift returns. I've been having a wonderfully stress-free holiday season and my parents are happy to watch t.v. instead of trying to match the amount they buy me with the amount they buy my sister.

Happy Holidays, suckers!!!