Ah yes, December. The month of crushing crowds and stress and -- dare I say it-- way too many baked goods. The month where the diet and exercise take a back seat and the only work out you get is shoving the goodies into your gaping maw and chowing down like it's your last meal. The month where you threaten to cut through the hordes of people blocking your way to the 50% off sale rack with a machete whilst smiling through your gritted teeth wishing everyone near you the best of the season.
December. The month where your family tries to decide who gets the single person this year and actually make you feel guilty when you suggest perhaps, just maybe, you'd like to spend a quiet Christmas in your own humble abode away from all the noise and insanity and stop up periodically over the holidays to visit. The month where they remind you that as the only single person left in the family and with no family of your own you are therefore mobile. And you must be the one to keep the parents happy by providing them with at least one child to grace their home on Christmas morning. And no, it doesn't matter what you want or that you have hit forty and are no longer a child. You are their child, that is apparently all that is required.
Yes, December. The twelfth month. The only month of the year that seems purposely set aside for the sole purpose of reminding you with its family gatherings and parties that require dates and good cheer and fa-la-la-la-la-ing that you are single, and somehow in the eyes of Society, that is wrong. And forty and single (insert swift intake of breath here) - why that is just...why...(horrified whisper)...there are just...no...words.
Ah, yes. December is on par with Valentine's Day in that way. Except Valentine's Day thankfully only lasts 24 hours and therefore can be slept through. December, not so much.
People ask me why I don't get excited over Christmas anymore.