OMG... I just realized it is less than three weeks until Christmas. As usual, I’ve been in denial since the pre-holiday ramp-up started before Halloween. Christmas isn’t going away, so I’d better shift into shopping mode. Pronto. Or do I really need to? According to the Mayan Calendar, the world will end on December 21st. I’ve never been much of a gambler. Do I trust the Mayans and not shop, since nobody will be around on December 25th? That Rapture dude in California, Harold Camping, was wrong about the end of the world... twice. I believe the first date was May 21, 2011. I had an appointment that morning to get my eyebrows and lip waxed. I was really hopeful the Rapture would happen after I was exfoliated, since I’d hate to get gone sporting a mustache. I didn’t need to worry, though, because
A. the Rapture was a bust
B. I doubt I would have been called Up There anyway.
The second Rapture, October 21, 2011 also didn’t happen. No way would you catch me selling my stuff, giving away the dogs, and waiting to get The Call (or whatever is supposed to happen). Nutball Harold had cried wolf one too many times. After the second Doomsday whoopsy, Mr. Camping apologized for his “miscalculation” and retired. Or maybe he got Raptured outta here. So, I am left in a quandary about whether To Christmas or Not To Christmas. Sigh. What a sad little person I am, rooting for the Mayans in order to get out of all the holiday hoopla. I could leave a note that I got Raptured, and just hide out in the spare bedroom downstairs. With my luck, I’d stumble across Harol Camping, snoring away in the corner chair. Guess I’d better get my bad self to the mall and join in the gift-giving frenzy. Bah humbug... er I mean Falalalala...