The holidays are approaching.
I can feel it. The same way I can feel indigestion bubbling up from my gastrointestinal depths.
It's not that I don't enjoy the holidays, or that I don't like them. I do. Well, I like parts of them.
I like seeing my Grandmom and Grandpop (and I suppose the rest of the family isn't half bad either). I like giving presents away, and seeing the looks on other people's faces when I give them something that I spent time looking for (or, in some cases, making). And I love the food.
Oh the food. For those of you who don't know, I've been having a torrid love affair with food for the past 25 years.
I like the spirit of the holidays. What I don't like, however, is the crowds. I'm mildly claustrophobic at best, and and I hate people touching me.
Especially little old women who have no sense of personal space. Lady, you can have the sweater if it means you'll back the eff off.
People gets nuts, for some reason. Absolutely batty. Normal, perfectly nice people suddenly start doing remarkable impressions of the Incredible Hulk. Hulk angry. Hulk smash.
Part of me wonders whether or not the holidays are about pleasing others or one-upping them. And the other part of me is too busy pointing out that that's a very Grinch-esque point of view, and would I just stop being a stick in the mud already?
I think I'm going to hang some lights on the house tomorrow. Freezing the balls I don't have off seems like a good way to kick off this holiday season.