I Think I Might be the Grinch

“Why the hell do they have Christmas trees on display in September?” That may have been my first hint. The look on the face of the store employee who had absolutely no control over what goes in the aisles, but was convinced she was talking to a complete lunatic, was the second.

I’m seeing holiday advertising on TV, social media posts from folks who have already decorated their houses and trimmed their trees, and the only response I can think of is, "Are you completely friggin' nuts?" so I say nothing. “IT’S TOO EARLY, YOU MORONS” probably is not a comment that would be welcomed either. I just keep it to myself and look at their pictures with disdain while questioning their sanity.

TV networks are already showing Holiday flicks 24-7, and radio stations started playing Christmas music in October. Screw off with your Deck the Halls with Holly’s Balls, or your Rudolf the brown-nosed reindeer, had his snout up Santa’s butt, or whatever the damn lyrics are supposed to be.

Why do I have to be so miserable? Why do I care when other families put their trees up instead of just being happy for people who like to enjoy the season?

I believe the answer is simple, really. I think my heart might be two sizes too small. I believe I may be that nasty, wasty green beast from the Dr. Seuss tale. Yup, I think I might just be the Grinch.

But surely, I’m cuddlier than a cactus and more charming than an eel. My brain is not full of spiders. I don’t have garlic in my soul. Or do I? Sometimes I wonder.

It takes me a while to get mentally and emotionally prepared for the season, not to mention physically or financially. I do the same thing to myself every year. I start getting ready about two weeks beforehand, and I don’t even want to hear about the existence of the holiday season before then.

Two weeks before Christmas is deep cleaning week. One week before is when I start the shopping, wrapping, baking, cooking, decorating and tree trimming. Yes, I leave it all until one week before Christmas and make myself even more ornery because of my procrastination.

Every year I tell myself I’m going to start earlier next year, and every year I do nothing but wallow in my “IT’S TOO EARLY!” misery until it’s too late. I’m beginning to think I might be the one who’s insane.

But once it’s all done, once the tree is finally finished somewhere around Christmas Eve, something magical happens. My icy, miserable inner beast is transformed into a warm, cheerful softie with the innocent excitement of a child. I start to really look forward to the day and revel in the magic of it all.

I actually smile. I find myself singing along with Christmas carols. I get excited about the family reunions, about the joy in the children’s eyes when they show me what Santa brought them, and when they rip open the presents, I bring.

I look forward to overindulging in the feast and getting together with family and friends to raise a glass to celebrate the season. It’s as if the lights on the tree ignite my Christmas spirit.

Then just as I relax and become transfixed by the glow of the twinkling lights, the furry-assed grey and white hellion awakes from her catnap. As quickly as the tree is decorated, it is undecorated. Balls, beads, and bows come crashing down, and the game begins.

Spray it with bitter apple, they say. It might have been a good idea if every pet supply store I called wasn't already sold out. Try vinegar and water, someone said. Nope.

Nothing works. She will back off while the spray is happening and just wait until it dries. Scolding? Ha! Yeah right. She will rip ornaments off the tree while staring straight into my eyes. She will climb inside bags and tear open boxes while I am yelling at her to stop. She will steal the bows from presents while giving me "the tail."

She is not afraid of me. She is not afraid of anyone. She wouldn’t even be afraid of the devil. Actually, considering the number of slaughtered reindeer and decapitated angels I’ve found on the floor in the morning, I’m convinced she is the devil. I may have found my spirit, but this little beast is determined to keep Christmas from coming somehow.

I guess I should be grateful she hasn’t attempted to climb the tree yet, emphasis on YET! I also guess, in a sense, I should be grateful for my procrastination. At least I don’t have to redecorate every day for two months.

So the season will come, and the ritual will continue. I will scoff at the TV ads. I will refuse to listen to Christmas music or watch holiday movies. I will mock people who decorate early, no matter how beautifully they’ve done so, and I will do nothing myself until the very last minute.

I will get exhausted and frustrated, vow yet again that I’m not going to wait so long next year, and I will swear. I will swear, and swear and swear some more. I will swear and swear till my swearer is sore.

When I am finally finished and relaxing with a glass of wine admiring my work, the furry little devil will tear it all up. I will fix it, and she will tear it up again - for 12 straight days. But I will enjoy the season, damn it! I will see family and friends. I will have several holiday dinners. I will enjoy maybe a few too many glasses of cheer and my greatest Christmas wish will be that I find that elusive bitter apple spray or enough catnip toys to keep the little demon distracted and away from the tree.

Happy holidays everyone. Now, leave me alone with my mockery and hatred of everything Christmas until mid-December! Bah humbug.