Ringing in 2015 with bills galore

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First Posted: 12/29/2014

I’ve spent the last few days “taking down Christmas”, as we call it here at the Sanitarium. And, while I was precariously perched high atop the ladder (solo, as usual) noting sadly petrified branches and clotted tinsel below and disengaging the uppermost limb from the poor angel’s derriere, I was feeling a bit melancholy.

I’ve heard that people can feel a bit blue, post Christmas – a type of deflation, if you will. Sort of like experiencing the “baby blues” after ripping yourself in two giving birth and once you get home with that squirming, pooping, shrieking bundle in your arms you look down and scream in your head; “Now what?” This is how I feel this week. Now what? So, I was on the top rung experiencing what you may suppose was post-Christmas depression, but, in actuality, it wasn’t the end of the season making me cry, but the imminent commencement of the oncoming, glossy-windowed envelope stampede with inserts demanding: Payment due, like, right now.

I glanced covertly at my husband as he watched one, two or 12 football games and thought to myself; “That poor sap has no idea, no idea at all about what I’ve done this Christmas. Let’s hope he can stay suspended in sweat-soaked football euphoria for at least another week and a half.” For, as folks around me mourned the passing of another yuletide, I was mourning the passing of our credit rating.

I was a very, very bad girl this holiday season.

I have issues; I’m fairly weak when it comes to purchasing gifts. Well, purchasing, period. I’m the prototypical, spineless specimen whom every retailer in the country hopes to lure into their evil, high annual fee, credit-coated clutches each season. I can never pass up an Almond Joy nor the promise of “one-day only” savings plus the bonus of a new, shiny, Technicolor credit card.

Sign. Me. Up.

I’m sickened! And so, too, will my husband be once I run out of the energy required to assault the mailman each day in order to confiscate these multiple requests for funds before they land in my mailbox, potentially explosive as a land mine. They can be nasty requests, too. And they were so kind and accommodating in the store while I signed away my name, social security number and cholesterol level. They’d give a credit card to a humpbacked whale if he could sign his name with a flipper.

And, what I cannot seem to remember at the time is …it’s never-ending! Because, logically, you intend to dispose of the new card upon its arrival, and pretend nothing ever happened. Except, of course, it did happen and I have those bills to prove it. As if I needed further proof of guilt by insanity. And you know that credit card never gets thrown away…it gets used more often than my bottle of Grey Goose.

So, I‘m misty-eyed over the passing of Christmas 2014. And it appears I’m welcoming 2015 with the promise of a bleeding ulcer.

Wasn’t it me, just a few weeks ago, who everyone lectured about stopping the materialist existentialism that has become our holiday?

Don’t ever listen to me again. I’m just such a hypocrite. But a hypocrite with a sparkly new credit card from every major retailer in the tri-state area.

Bad Maria.

Now…who wants to go shopping?