Hah-bumbug

I am not the target audience for Christmas.

There are plenty of things that are aimed squarely at me. Primetime TV shows with smart writing and attractive women - check. Steakhouses featuring dry-aged beef - check. The music of Fountains of Wayne - check.

But I am not in the Christmas demographic. I do not strongly identify with Christianity as a religion, for one thing, though I think it's safe to say that Christmas has become a pretty secular holiday in America.

Very few parts of me are childlike, any more, and there are doctors working on that problem. As such, I do not find myself giddy to the point of delirium, as children are, at the prospect of opening Christmas presents.

I am also not a parent, which I understand plays a big part in re-discovering the joy of Christmas. I'm sure this also has something to do with why my parents and in-laws are chomping at the bit for some hot Pants-on-Wife procreation action, as they would like to re-re-discover the holiday as grandparents.

Also, true to my Grinchly nature, I just don't like Christmas decorations or Christmas music or the way the entire world around me tends to seize up when Christmas approaches. For instance, I would like to go to the grocery store this evening, but I know what it will be like -- crowded, pushy and insane.

The one things going for me on Christmas is that I am a consumer, but a guilty one. I love buying new things, but I feel bad about it, because I don't really need most of the stuff I buy. Christmas is nice, because I get the joy of buying while feeling less guilty about it since I'm giving it away to friends and family.

And I know that's not the true meaning of Christmas -- at least it's not the true meaning people keep trying to shove down my throat -- but I like giving and receiving presents. I'm sure that makes me a bad person, but I don't care. For all the bother of Christmas, with crazy people going even crazier and that awful music and the forced merriment, giving gifts is the saving grace of this time of year.