Christmas confessions

With four weeks to go, I decided to stop stalling on the serious Christmas shopping, and headed to the mall late Saturday afternoon. Fortified with a gingerbread latte and a scone billed only as "festive"  (it had blackberries and raspberries; I assume its festiveness comes from its kicking off the annual holiday muffin-top tradition), I was pretty sure I'd get a fair bit accomplished. Which leads me to the first of my Christmas confessions:

1) I bought myself a ring and some really cute slippers with sheep on them. Looked around a bit. Then I went home.

2) Nancy Drew outed Santa for me. I was probably 9, or nearly, and was snooping in my mother's closet while she was at work. I found some Nancy Drew books. Awesome; she was my favourite.  Except come December 25th, they were in my stocking from Santa. Thanks a lot, Nancy. That's one thing I wish had remained a mystery a little longer.  Bitch.

3) My favourite scene in "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" is when Max goes under the sleigh and ends up on the back, waving at the Grinch.  Cindy Lou's voice grates on me;  I know grown women Who, though much more than two, talk just like her.

4) An old boyfriend once came over and hid my Christmas gifts around my apartment. It was sweet. I do not have any of them anymore. The boy or the gifts.

5) I kind of love the chaos at the mall in December. It inspires me. Perhaps that's why Saturday was a bust; it's only November. But I'll commiserate when other people complain about the the madness, nodding politely and making appropriate remarks, even though I secretly enjoy the crowds. Unless they get in my way. I will cut you if you try and get the last Laura Secord marshmallow Santa.

6)  I have never spent a Christmas morning anywhere but my parents' house. I've arrived home well past midnight, in a snowstorm,  but I have always been there. A few years ago, my mother put the stockings out before I went to bed and I got mad at her. She was like " you know it's me, right?" Yes, thanks to that blabbermouth Nancy Drew, I do.

7) I used to buy my grandfather my favourite chocolates, even though they were probably only his third or fourth favourite. But he would open them and offer me one first, without fail. He also really loved Poppycock. My whole family loves it, too,  but it annoys my mother when I refer to it by its nickname.  Particularly when I say things on Christmas Eve like "When you went to get the Christmas groceries, did you remember how much I love 'The Cock'?"

8) When eating gingerbread persons, I will always bite their little legs off, then their arms, leaving the head and torso to savour.  Essentially, I turn them into the cookie interpretation of the title character from that awful movie "Boxing Helena". That pretty much makes me the Yuletide version of that creepy fucker Julian Sands.

9) I used to sit on the floor with my cats and sprinkle catnip on their presents to try and get them to open them. This only resulted in them rolling on the presents, oblivious to the feline treasures contained within. We've switched to gift bags, with much more success. And yes, I wrap their presents in some fashion. Don't judge me; they love it.

10) I, like many women, buy my mom's gifts from my dad. Except one year in university when I was swamped and refused. One of the things he got her was a stuffed unicorn. To quote my father: "I don't know why; I panicked". I've never made him shop for Mom since. We still refer to it as "the unicorn incident".

11) I think kissing under the mistletoe is a silly tradition, yet I'm still irked by the fact that I've never been kissed under the mistletoe by anyone who really meant it. Did you know mistletoe is a parasitic plant?  Figures.

12) People who announce on December 1st that they're "pretty much done shopping. I just need to wrap one thing and mail it." I hate you.

I'm sure there are many more, floating around the tinsel-draped corners of my subconscious, faintly illuminated by an errant strand of those goddamn blue icicle lights (one infamous Christmas party in the early 90s alone is worthy of its own list). But I shall leave you with this, for a baker's dozen of Christmas confessions: 

13)  Last year, at a mall that shall remain nameless, I found one of Santa's elves disturbingly hot. In my defense, he was probably about 21 and had really pretty eyes. Plus, his outfit was really cute, and he was surrounded by oversized peppermint sticks. Don't try and deny it; you totally would.