I was recently talking to a friend of mine and by the end of the conversation all I could think about was shanking that bitch in her face. I mean, friend or not, you are making all of us look bad and I’m going to have to kill you so that the others don’t torture you before they kill you.
I’m on the phone and I ask my friend, who we shall call Blanche because, well, I know not a single Blanche and it will really make all of our mutual friends try to guess who this person is. Plus, the name Blanche is fun to say and I never get to say it.
But I digress.
Blanche is telling me about her Christmas shopping and how she got all her Littles the very toys they’ve wanted all year. She stood in lines for hours (because she obviously hasn’t heard of Amazon) and braved the mall parking lots, all for her darlings who were angels.
I would like to add an editor note here that I almost threw up from all the sweet gushing because let’s face it, kids suck for 10 months every year. They only shape up for the final two in order to ensure the present load isn’t diminished. Just ask their siblings, siblings always tell the truth about the awfulness of the minions around them. Shit, I completely tossed my brothers under the bus trying to secure a Nintendo in 1987. It’s every man for himself…and I still have that Nintendo and all its wonderful games.
Then Blanche started talking about wrapping paper. (You just buy it and go so I’m not sure why we are talking about it.) It was at this point that my brain focused on the phrase “I loved making it for them…”
Wait, what? You made wrapping paper? You made it?!
She made her own wrapping paper.
Blanche works full-time, has three children under the age of eight, and her husband is currently out to sea. But store-bought paper is too pedestrian and tells the recipient that they are not worthy. (Now, Blanche didn’t say those exact words, but why else is she making something that is so cheap and readily available?!)
What the fuck?! I have no job, other than writing, which I do in my pajamas without washing my hair. I have no kids, except for Lola who can be left in front of a TV while the Mommybeast gets things accomplished. Sure, she needs to be watched to ensure her survival for another hour, but in all reality I can wander around for hours without being reminded that she needs my assistance. And even with all this nothingness that encompasses my day, I couldn’t find time to wrap all my gifts in store-bought paper.
Let alone some wonderful, hand-crafted creation that I worked on for hours.
So, for the sake of humanity I need to shank Blanche. She is obviously an alien pod sent to destroy our way of life. And if you made your own wrapping paper this year, this public service announcement is for you:
And for those of you who didn’t make your own wrapping paper this year:
Merry Christmas. You hate your family.
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