Now that Halloween is done, I’d like to talk about Christmas.

Okay, please turn off the screams and stop throwing stuff. This is not what you think it is.

Every year from about November to the end of January, I get inundated with Christmas. Before Christmas it’s “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays” or an inquiry as to my moral status to see if I’m getting goods from a mystery man known as Santa. After Christmas, everyone and their pet iguana wants to know what I got or if I stuffed myself at Christmas. Or, conversely, I get a rundown of their new shiny bling and a menu review.

Please, take this next statement to heart.

Stuff it all up your ass.

There are those of us who don’t celebrate Christmas. I’m not talking about celebrating alternatives which, as a Wiccan, I celebrate Yule (December 21st). I’m talking about those of us who don’t really care about the day at all. I’m talking about those people who don’t have a special feast or Christmas trees or turkey and stuffing. Yes, I make Christmas presents for my friends but that is not because of Christmas. It’s because I recognize that they celebrate the day and it’s special to them. Me? I would love to hide from November 1st to January 31st. Never to endure a Christmas carol or smarmy holiday greeting.


Once upon a time I would wake up early on Christmas morning and tear into my loot. I used to dream of Santa and try to be real good. I even ate my peas. I would eat turkey and stuffing and looked forward to the pies my mother made every year. Then something would happen every Christmas. Something would happen to make my sister upset and she’d start yelling. Then my brother (the one with schizophrenia) would start bullying my other brother and an argument or sometimes a fist fight would break out. The turkey would start to taste like ash in my mouth as the screaming and violence escalated. To this day I’m not a fan pumpkin pie. I cry every time I eat it.

By the time I was 6 I was informed, about a week before Christmas, there was no Santa and that I wouldn’t be getting Santa gifts anymore. My sister was tired of my parents showering the extra money and attention on me (she was 12 years older than me) and insisted it had to stop. I was confused. Had I been so bad that Santa didn’t love me anymore? Was Santa dead? I cry even now at the memory of it.

Now my Christmas day consists of eating homemade pizza (my pizza is the absolute best) and watching horror flicks on Netflix. I text my friends to let them know I love them and then I go off the grid. I crochet and try to get ready for New Year’s (which I’m invariably alone). I try to make my day as relaxing as possible so

So I want you to understand, dear reader, that there are people like myself out there for whom Christmas is a torture and it’s an endurance test to get through it. This year I will make a pin for myself of a black poinsettia. When you see it, please be so kind as to keep your well wishes to yourself. I have no wish to interfere with your celebrations. I recognize that, to you, Christmas is a celebration of life and hope and love. Please understand, though, that my associations with Christmas are very black. Enjoy your holidays and let me quietly spend mine.

I suggest that those who wish to opt out of Christmas wear a black poinsettia as a means of letting others know.