Surviving the Season

It’s the Christmas season again, the time of year that fills us with goodwill, cheer, tidings of comfort and joy, and, for some of us, the interminable urge to inject heroin into our eyeballs. Yes this magical season with all of its glamour, glitter, and glitz for some is nothing but another day of the year, one in which we are forced to stay home from our jobs, see relatives we hate, and, the one boon, eat until we can no longer fit into our ‘fat’ jeans. It’s more than just a time for getting…and giving of course; it’s the time in which we feel more than ever the angst of being, yet again, single.

Although being single is a lot I quite enjoy most of the year, the “holiday season,” as it has been so incongruously named, brings out my carefully concealed desperation like nothing else.

I have conducted a careful inquiry into my dating habits and those of a few close friends of mine over the last few years and the similarities have me on the line between hilarity and devastation.
Why is it that during “the season”, a person we wouldn’t ordinarily touch with a 29.5-foot pole suddenly becomes a likely prospectus for a long-term relationship? It’s not just the extra liter of rum we’ve added to the eggnog, no, it’s more than that it’s the feeling of inadequacy, disappointment, and utter deprivation that being alone during “the season” provides.
Why is it that suddenly the string of fabulous dates, free dinners, lunches, trips, and the hours of mildly memorable entertainment are suddenly cancelled out by the sight of a family Christmas card with everyone matching and a dog in a ridiculous reindeer costume? Why is it that suddenly relationship envy begins to rage; not just for that one person, but those maternal urges that you’d hoped were on permanent hiatus reappear and the raging hormones cause consumption to go up, and up, and up. Before Christmas Eve you’ve gained 20 pounds and are on your way to a one-way ticket to Betty Ford…. why, why, why do we allow it?
Why is it that with student loans, outrageous car payments, rent, and credit card bills siphoning off every penny of our discretionary spending, many of us still try to participate actively in the giving so actively equated with “the season”? It’s as if we believe that we should buy the perfect present for certain people (i.e. everyone) –and the Christmas fairies, Santa, or blind luck will reimburse us afterward. It’s either that or I thought that somehow Christmas money flows from a separate, more abundant source than the one that exists in my 364-day reality.
Many of us are intelligent, educated, semi-successful women with goals, dreams, and aspirations that have and will continue to take us higher, but yet we allow the most basic of insecurities to push us into a panic. The truth of the matter is that Christmas couldn’t be more strategically placed, “the season” is 27 to 35 days of hell during the cold season when our blood is so cold it’s flowing to our brains with the speed of a special Olympic hurdler. Combine that with all the tryptophan (amino acid in foods such as Turkey) consumed and its no wonder we have the attention span of a cockroach and quickly forget how fabulous our lives are.
But never fear, there is a solution: simply boycott “the season.” My miniscule disposable income—which I normally choose to spend on myself buying luxuries like soap, shampoo, and shoes and my non-existent discretionary spending fund have made this an obvious alternative to the stress of either trying to find something that appropriately expresses my feelings towards each person or simply avoiding everyone I know for two months.

Now this solution may be too radical for some, and by all means I encourage self-expression, but the simple truth of the matter is, Christmas is but a day, but the “holiday spirit” can last all year, and not in a good way. That maxed-out credit card, the lunatic ex turned stalker you only out of total desperation and promptly dumped in early February (right AFTER Valentine’s day) when reality hit, and the twenty pounds that stubbornly cling to your thighs, those are your consequences. Reject the hype. Boycotting “the season” allows you to keep not only your dignity and self-respect, but also your disposable income, your dress size, and your sanity. A win-win situation.