With that, she hastily exits my office, and I let out a deep breath. I rub my temples—as long as I don’t have to deal with the Christmas ridiculousness, it’s fine.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
I toss aside my pen, sliding the mouse around on the mousepad to wake up my computer. That was too many minutes wasted that I could’ve spent working.
Time to get back to focusing on thetrulyimportant tasks.
By the time I’m leaving the office, it’s completely dark outside, and a light snowfall has just started. I love nighttime, but I hate the snow.
Not because it’s cold or signals wintertime, but because the bright Christmas lights reflect off of it, enhancing what is already too blinding.
I wrap my blazer a bit tighter across me—it might be time to break out the winter jacket. It’s almost December, after all.
The worst month of the year is only a few days away. Maybe I’ll take off the day they have their Christmas party—then I won’t even have to see it.
But that day could be usedworking, bettering the company. So likely, I’ll be at the office.
In the distance, I hear caroling. Ahead of me I spot the group it’s coming from, going door-to-door.
What nuisances, shoving their cheer down everyone’s throats.
Taking a side street to avoid them, I quicken my steps. With the snow starting to come down, it looks like I’ll have to start driving to work soon.
When I eventually reach home, my legs are freezing from the windchill, and my boots are shiny from the melted snowflakes. Inside is warm though—my furnace must’ve kicked on at some point.
I unzip my boots, leaving them by the front door. As I make my way upstairs to my room, I slide my blazer off. Pantsuits are my favorite attire, but they really don’t keep me warm.
That’s not their purpose though, so I can’t really be mad.
Just as I open the door to my closet, there’s a knock at my door. My blood preemptively boils—if those damn carolers are here to harass me, I’m going to shove their sheet music down their throats.
Storming down my stairs, I fling my front door open. Just as expected, there’s a group that’s much too smiley on my doorstep, all wearing some sort of Christmas-related headgear.
Santa hats, reindeer antlers, or light-up headbands. All of it is hard on my eyes.
The person in front opens their mouth, but before they can get a word out, I say, “No.”
I don’t wait for a response before closing and locking my door. When I don’t hear movement on the other side, I turn off the exterior light.
If they fall down my steps in the dark, that’s on them.
Walking away, I make my way to the kitchen this time. I need a glass of wine—the first of many to help me get through this stifling time of year.
Once I pour myself a glass, I bring it upstairs, heading back to my closet. It’s too late to cook, or rather, I have no energy for it.
All the Christmasthis, Christmasthattalk has me feeling extra exhausted after a long day in the office. I’ll order something, and the leftovers can be my lunch tomorrow.
I set my wine on my bedside table, pulling my phone out. When I open the food delivery apps, I can’t help but scoff with disgust.
All the restaurants and take-out joints have changed their logos to somehow incorporate Christmas. Not only that, there are ads plastered everywhere about Christmas specials.
It almost makes me lose my appetite. Almost.
I order one of the festive meals—but only because it’s a good deal. Even I can’t pass up a deal like this.
Tossing my phone onto my bed, Ifinallychange into my comfy clothes. I turn on the TV and hop onto my bed, picking up my glass of wine.
Now, it’s time to unwind and watch my show while I wait for the food to arrive. The episode begins, and to my dismay, it’s aChristmas episode.
