Another nail in the coffin

My mom was asked to be in charge of their ward's Christmas party.  She asked my opinion.  "Cancel it," I said.  (I don't like ward Christmas parties.)

My nieces were shocked.  (Unlike their aunt, they're all normal, social girls.)

Later, the girls were talking about Christmas caroling.  I said, "I hate Christmas caroling."

More shock.  And horror.  I tried to explain, "I don't like it when people come Christmas caroling to me, so I don't feel comfortable going Christmas caroling."

That only made it worse; they were further astounded.  Clarissa, sweet girl that she is, offered a consolation to try to raise me in everyone's estimation.  "You do make fudge though."

(Their mom doesn't make fudge at Christmastime.  I appreciate every time Marianne doesn't do something because it gives me a fighting chance to measure up.)

Later, something came up about the music from "The Forgotten Carols."  I foolishly said I didn't like those songs.  (Seriously.  Just kill me now rather than moan about crying every time you take the tree down, but I should keep these thoughts to myself.)

Clarissa's, Deseret's and Liberty's jaws dropped.  I could see it on their faces, "What is wrong with you?!?"

I don't think the fudge is enough anymore.

Here's something else, girls.  At church they announced an upcoming Relief Society ornament exchange.  You girls probably think they make the holiday complete but I don't like ornament exchanges either.  I avoid them.  I would rather pick out my own ornament than be gifted with some bizarre thing I would never hang on my tree.

I know, I'm sort of a jerk. But don't hate me, girls.

I do make fudge.

Also, this shirt:

One of my offspring outright laughed at me, another thought it "looked creepy," and the third said it was "quite a shirt."

I think it's festive.  And possibly makes up for some other yuletide failings?