The Countdown To Christmas: A Humorous Glimpse at the Chaotic Days Before X-mas

If you are like 99% of the people on the planet, you're probably feeling the Christmas spirit right about now. And you know exactly what "spirit" I’m talking about... that “Oh-my-god!-ONLY-A-FEW-MORE-DAYS-BEFORE-CHRISTMAS-gremlin that threatens your sanity.

You’ve procrastinated, made excuses, counted and recounted the number of people you have to buy for, counted your toes... and, all the while, the clock has been ticking: "tick-tock, tick-tock... you’re going into hock." That gruesome reminder has prevented you from actually extracting that innocent-looking plastic card that lurks in your wallet, poised to dance with the devil in a "debt-duo."

And the 12 Days of Christmas has taken on a sinister meaning. You realize it was really invented by slick marketers as a way to remind hapless shoppers that the clock has begun its relentless countdown, a marketing maneuver designed to goad people into that desired, last-minute, “no-holds-barred” shopping frenzy that commerce junkies salivate over.

Those marketers know a thing or two, too, because your eyes are glazed over and you feel yourself going into Christmas Shopper Commando Mode. You approach your last-minute shopping like a pit-bull on crack: snarling, teeth bared, ready to tear people to shreds--in fact, you wanted to gnaw on the Walmart Greeter’s leg just now.

And you have one goal and only one goal in mind: FINISH YOUR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING!

When you reach home, you sit down with firm resolve prepared to tackle the wrapping, so glad you are finally indoors out of the elements. Your hands are still aching from gripping the steering wheel as you slid over streets as slick as Dippity-doo. As you pull the first piece of tape from the role, it actually comes off... You sit there staring at it with the dawning realization that you are now out of tape.

The thought of going out again is simply beyond human comprehension and you pull apart your home looking for another role of tape, praying that somehow, last year, you thought to pick up extra, but knowing deep in your gut that you didn't and even if you had done so, you have the suspicion it would have gone into the "black hole," only to emerge when no longer needed.

You hunt frantically for anything you can use instead and hit on masking tape, staples and Super Glue.

You somehow tack together your gifts and they all look like they've been through a battle zone. People will just have to suck it up, after all you've gone through.

You look over the mound of gifts and you’re so exhausted you don’t care if granny got the man’s shaving kit meant for Uncle Jack or whether flirtatious Uncle Jack will appreciate the Bible that was meant for granny—those two packages you realize you mislabeled in the chaotic Christmas scramble preamble. (Well, for crying out loud, they were the same size, after all!).

You also know why people partake of Christmas “cheer.” In fact, right before your credit card committed suicide, you bought yourself some hard liquor. And I mean hard, kick-ass, blow-your-socks-right-off-to-serendipity liquor.

You now sit in a stupor, gazing stupidly at your gaily lit Christmas tree congratulating yourself that for the first time ever, you've remembered to pick up chestnuts to roast on an open fire.

You toast yourself on being that 1% of the population that actually got their Christmas shopping done, sans a nervous collapse and expensive therapy bills . . . and you watch the sparks float and drift upwards . . .

The glowing embers come to rest on the tree branches and you are just telling yourself that they look berrrry . . . puuuurry . . .

Good night to all and to all a good night.