The mall at 8:30 Christmas eve morning was actually manageable. There were no red bears, but there were bear pjs and there was a spiderman suit he can use to turn a bear red with clothing. It will have to do. Publix, too, was still OK at this hour. But it was already getting crowded, and I was glad to get in and out when I did.
Anyway, I had on this shirt:
I turned around to grab some gum in the Publix line, and the Christmas Asshole behind me took my movement as license to converse. Trying to be polite, I turned around like I cared what she was saying.
She stopped whatever she had been proclaiming to demand, “Why would you wear a shirt like that at Christmas?”
Now, I had a lot of options for my answer, all of them true.
For example, I could have said, “Oh, my husband got me this,” and adopted a dismissive, airy tone, like I was saying oh those men, never can tell what they’ll come up with next.
Or I might have said, “Eh, I wasn’t really awake when I pulled this on.” This would have required an apologetic expression and tone, like I was sorry for having fucked up her stuck-in-line-chit-chat moment.
But I think we all know I didn’t choose one of those options. There’s only so much Christmas spirit to go around, you know. Instead, I looked down at the shirt and said, (opting for ‘indignation’ as the most enjoyable tone) “My husband got me this dumb thing, and as soon as I looked at it, I told him, “Honey, you know I’d never say something like that.”
The woman looked relieved until I pointed to the shirt’s first three words and added, “No. I would have said ‘Life Is SHIT’.”
And do you know that lady turned around and left. She gave up a short line and moved over to a long one. I resisted the urge to shout “Merry Fucking Christmas” after her. Because, you know, I’ve got to save my holiday spirit for others, too, you know.
Jessie Powell is the Jester Queen. She likes to tell you about her dog, her kids, her fiction, and her blog, but not necessarily in that order.