I have a confession to make: I hate the holidays.

I like to convince myself that I object to the holidays as a matter of principle. Thanksgiving may have become a time for family, and for reflecting on the good things in your life, and whatever. But really it’s a celebration of the time when a bunch of weirdos who couldn’t hack it in their home country packed up and took a boat to the New World, where the natives threw them a pity party. Which was later repaid with smallpox. And Christmas? Please. The commercial co-opting of a Christian holiday celebrating the birth of the world’s most famous fictional character. A holiday which is itself a co-opted Roman holiday, which has its roots in even early Pagan traditions.

I can be kind of a dick when I want to. Because the truth is that this time of year just stresses me right out. It’s expensive. I have family members from every corner of the country wanting to know why I’m not spending it with them. I put on a ton of weight every year at this time. And it’s expensive. Did I mention that already?

I need to quit being a whiner and just try to enjoy myself.

But it’s also cold out there.