Even If

I wish amazing things for you today. For real.

Even if you’re in a total shit place at the moment, I hope that you feel at least one little tiny moment of joy today. A dog licking your face, a child catching your eye and then smiling big, finding a $20 bill in a jacket pocket. There being a whole sleeve of Oreos in the back of the damn pantry, whatever.

Even if you want to beat your inlaw(s) bloody with a frozen ham, I hope you can laugh at the fact that Uncle Bernie has had that fucking piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe for almost three hours now.

Even if you’re all by yourself, especially then. I hope you have someone you can call. I’ve been there, the alone Christmases. Maybe just go to the damn movies, I’ve done that.  At least gives me the illusion I’m not alone…get some quality people-watching in.

Even if you’re hurting. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. I hope you know you’re loved. You’re cared about. You matter.

And if you were here, I’d have you sign a confidentiality agreement, and then I’d hug you and say things like, “It’s all going to be okay.” What? I have a rep. I’m the misogynistic dick, remember?

Then I’d say, “Merry Christmas!” and you’d mumble something about how you don’t celebrate Christmas because you’re Jewish or Muslim or Wiccan or an atheist or a Reformed Fundamentalist Vegan or a Catholic*, and I’d say “Are you going to get all indignant on me for wishing you a happy holiday?” and you’d say “I don’t have a problem with you saying Happy Holidays but I do have a problem with you saying Merry Christmas because isn’t that just really you being insensitive to my religious or non-religious beliefs by assuming I’m a Christian?”, and I’d say “For fuck’s sake, try not being offended for just one day…you might find you like it,” and you’d shove me and call me a prunt, and I’d shove you back and say “You better step off!” and then we’d have a smackdown situation cuz it would be on like Donkey Kong, and I’d be pulling Chinese throwing stars from these anklet thingies that you hadn’t quite noticed before because they were under my pantslegs, and just as I chuck the stars at you, time slows down and we can wave our hands around and make these cool glowing lines in the air like we’re all Matrix and shit, and now you growl and bat the slow-motion Chinese throwing stars out of the air like they were nothing, and you pull out a bazooka (which I think, really, is escalating things a bit too far, since I only had throwing stars and not even anything remotely involving gunpowder) and I say, “Whoa!” and point to the Guinness on the table beside me and you say, “Ooh, Guinness, say no more,” and you put the bazooka back under your trenchcoat and say, “Wanna go get a beer?” and I say “Well, I just showed you I already have a beer, but sure. More Guinness? Can’t go wrong there,” and we take off to the Blue Lagoon and have ourselves some beers and think about how silly everything was and how we got all pissed off for no good reason and we’ll never let that happen again, and so we raise our pint glasses up in the air to make a toast and clink them together and I say

“Merry Christmas!”

Oh, hell yeah. Like Donkey Kong, betch!

*Yes, I know Catholics are Christians. It’s a joke. I’m Catholic. It’s just funny to me how many Christians don’t consider Catholics to be Christians. Why am I explaining myself to you? You know what? You’re really walking on my spine today! Back the fuck off and go get drunk. That’s what I’m doing.