My Very Own Special Christmas

A few months ago, I realized that I wanted to do something I hadn’t done before, something that sounded so pleasurable it made me feel bad.

I didn’t want to go home for Christmas.

It’s not that I don’t love my family. It’s not that I don’t want to see them.

But thinking about the expense of holiday plane tickets and the hours of travel to and fro - it takes three separate flights for me to get from NYC to Corpus Christi - makes me less than jolly. In fact, it makes me want to kick Santa in the balls.

So I decided to have My Very Own Special Christmas in NYC.

Originally, I wanted to serve the less fortunate. Perhaps I waited too long - I couldn’t find a homeless shelter or soup kitchen near me with volunteer spots to fill. Thus, My Very Own Special Christmas will involve lounging around doing whatever I want.

Think movies. Think housewifely tasks I love. Think mismatched fleece pajama sets.

Some of my friends are concerned that I’ll wake up December 25, realize I’m not Jewish, and get really depressed. Most of them are out of town now, watching TV with their parents and eating big holiday meals.

So far, so good. I had dinner with friends last night and have plans with another one tonight.

I even got some support from an unlikely place. When asked about my holiday plans, I was a bit nervous to tell one of my co-workers. She’d be going home, I knew. I wondered if she’d assume I’m some sort of family black sheep or an orphan or something.

“Nothing sounds less appealing to me than being delayed en route to Texas right now,” I explained. “Plus, the climate is different, and I always feel wonky.”

She stopped me. “Good for you, man! Live the dream! This Christmas, I’ll be arguing with my mom about napkin rings. Again.”

It was all I needed to hear.

Here’s to Christmas made to order.

And here’s to having parents who understand and mail a tiny piece of Christmas to me. You know, just in case I forget where I’m missed.