A Christmas Complaint

Emily Lambert, Columnist

Usually my job title around here basically entails that I make sarcastic remarks about the upcoming holiday. But usually, it’s not as easy as Christmas. Christmas just begs to be joked about what with the fictional fat man that we have assigned as King of Christmas and the fact that we have made such a holy holiday into a mass market for consumerism.

Like really, why do we let our children believe that an overly jolly fat man with admittedly fantastic facial hair creeps into the house at night and leaves them presents? Shouldn’t they know that it’s their loving parents that brave Black Friday for the sake of buying them the Magic Elsa Dream Castle or the Super Awesome Star Wars Light Saber that is honestly just not worth $40?

Familial love shouldn’t need to be marked by expensive toys and gadgets that are meaningless within a few months when the next “next big thing” hits the shelves.

Christmas has been transformed from a sacred celebration of life and hope to a day filled with slaughtered pigs, overpriced toys, and irritating relatives asking about your relationship status. I mean seriously, is the only thing you care about whether or not I have a boyfriend? Sheesh. Why not ask about my college plans while you’re at it? (Don’t).

Disclaimer: I love Christmas. Christmas socks especially. Don’t twist my words or take this the wrong way.