Shoelaces for Josie

But you don’t want the movie either, because when you bought it, you purchased it with some vague, shadowy person to be gifted in mind instead of yourself. So right, after I got past that, I walked back through the movies to find one or eight for myself because I need entertainment in the evenings. And, dude, like, totally not that type of entertainment. Just some good old Swiss Family Robinson and Little House on the Prairie home-style fun.

And then I’m just standing there in the middle of the aisle, because I see other people that stand in the middle of aisles all the time. So I think maybe there’s something to being in everyone else’s way and that maybe I ought to give it a try. Right when I’m in the middle of being in everyone else’s way, some lady’s voice comes over the intercom and flatly says, “Cancel Christmas.”

That’s it. Just…”Cancel Christmas” like she was canceling an extra order of underwear because she found the package she bought three years ago that got shoved to the back of the drawer. Seriously. I mean, who did she think she was anyway? It’s not like she killed the dream of Santa Claus. Canceling Christmas is so much bigger than that. It’s killing the dream of Santy, all the reindeer and the elves. And the Abominable Snowman. And the entire North Pole melting in three hours, and who can handle the shock of that? The entire slate of our world’s “leaders” can’t figure out how to handle the polar caps melting at the rate of what, like, eight chunks of ice per 9.2347 days? It would take a lot more than two weeks of meetings in a place that makes me think of round tins and spittoons if the North Pole melted in three hours.

But you know what the real blow was? I always thought Scrooge was a man. My whole life, I thought the ultimate canceler of Christmas was like, you know, a man with all the man parts and a man voice and a pair of man shoes.