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Holidays?
I’ll pass
Here comes another one and this year we’ve got the classic triple threat: Easter, Passover, and Ramadan. Ah, the holidays. Nothing says warmth and community like obligatory celebrations. Thou shalt invite people you don’t particularly care for over to eat too much. Thou shalt wear uncomfortable shoes and make small talk. Thou shalt buy things you can’t afford, drink things that make you feel ill, and eat jelly beans.
Many, many jellybeans.
No, I wasn’t always like this about holidays. Are you kidding? I’m the one who grew up in Ohio’s answer to Mayberry. Small town America does holidays. Does ’em all. Hell, we even celebrated Arbor Day.
And the biggies? Christmas was a six-week orgy of anticipation that culminated in a road trip to rural Pennsylvania, many drunken grownups, a tree that was almost completely hidden by presents, and the most bewildering sense of letdown before the long ride back to Ohio. Easter was candy and so was Halloween. But Easter also included scratchy new dresses and tight patent leather shoes.
And they all featured tables weighed down with food. Acres of food. Every horizontal surface covered with plates and platters and bowls.
Was it all some ghastly ordeal? Oh, hell no. I was a kid and anything to break the dull routine of life in small-town Murika was…
