Ring Cellphones Ring

When I was younger most my holiday shopping took place in the week before Christmas. Last minute shopping reduced the chances I'd spill the beans before the big day, but only so much. Keeping secrets has never been my forte.

In those days everyone on my gift list lived in Lexington. Now they're spread out across several states. Waiting until the last minute is no longer an option.

Except for a few items, I'm pretty sure I finished my shopping last week. To spare myself a day of wrapping hell, I've been wrapping as I go. The inability to remember what I bought forced me out into the last-minute frenzy.

I can go from zero to crotchety in a heartbeat. Any other time of the year, the traffic, crowded aisles, long check-out lines and absence of anything even vaguely resembling service would push all my buttons. Not this time of year. The Christmas spirit takes over and I'm the very picture of patience and goodwill.

Don't believe me? I don't blame you. So here's proof:

The slutty girl on the cellphone didn't bother me a bit. Her boyfriend REALLY screwed up this time. Hooking up with strangers is one thing, but sleeping with her room-mate was just trashy. I'd say it was almost as trashy as talking about it on your cellphone in the middle of a busy Target.

The girl that nearly ran me over in the Kroger parking lot didn't piss me off either. Yeah, I noticed she was talking on her cellphone and drinking a coke as she drove. I picked up my prescription and saw her trying to select a home pregnancy test. Merry Christmas honey.

I didn't bite the head off the old lady with too much make-up and a lop-sided wig, either. She blocked the aisle as she dug through a gianormous purse to find her ringing cellphone. After she finally found it, she reported on her gift selections for a seemingly endless stream of progeny and was totally oblivious to the gridlock she had created.

Without my glasses, I see better with a little distance. Women on cellphones came and stood between me and the display I was scoping out not less than half a dozen times. They didn't even acknowledge me. I didn't bitch-slap a single one.

I doubt I'll get a thank you note. I don't care. If that's not the Christmas spirit, then I'm not...

The Crotchety Old Man