Here was my Black Friday plan for today:
Get up at 2:30 a.m., get to the stores and shop by 3. Once everything is done, head home, get my presents wrapped, send out the Christmas cards, cut down and decorate the tree and put up the Christmas lights.
Once I’m done with that, I head off to the market order the bird or ham or whatever piece of meat I’ll need for Christmas dinner, and I’m done.
What a great feeling. So much accomplished in only one day.
As I said, that was the plan. Emphasis on the “was.”
Reality set in about 10:30 last night, while I was climbing into bed.
I thought to myself, why break tradition?
First off, why rush out so early for shopping when there’s sleeping to be done.
I believe there’s a reason why newspapers and television news shows remind us everyday how many shopping days there are left until Christmas. They want us to feel the pressure and I, in turn can deal with that pressure by, how else, drinking. And not just any drinking mind you, holiday drinking. A good eggnog and brandy or even a spiked hot apple cider.
So I figure that if you get that shopping done too early you can’t properly enjoy the pressure.
And as far as sending out Christmas cards, well, I’m just not good at it. I admit that. Every year the wife and I talk about getting them done early and every year we just run out of time.
Sure, we love to receive Christmas cards and read every one. I especially love the ones with the three-page letter enclosed telling me everything some relative’s family did during the previous year.
C’mon, like I really care that so-and-so went off to college. Heck, I didn’t even remember that they had kids, for goodness sakes.
(I was going to use “Chrissakes” here, but something just didn’t seem right about that in a Christmas column. But, I digress.)
As far as getting the lights up on the house, there are posted signs everywhere around the neighborhood of people that can do that for you. I just need to keep my wife off my back and have her figure out that there’s an alternative. That is if she can’t figure out how to work the ladder by herself.
And for me, I say tree, schmee. The thing just gets needles all over the floor and the wife constantly asks me to water the darn thing.
(I was going to use “damn” here, but, again, I just didn’t think it worked in a Christmas column.)
So, Black Friday is still really all about football and, more importantly, the couch.
Why worry? After all, there are 29 shopping days left. Ahh, I’m starting to feel the pressure.
“Honey, while you’re up, would you mind getting me a beer? Love you.”