Welcome to the holiday season, the time of year sensibly named as such since it is neither any of the four seasons, nor does it contain the years three most important holidays: Pi Day (March 14), What if Dogs and Cats Had Opposable Thumbs Day (look it up, I swear!), and, of course, my birthday (May 15-DoN’T FoRgeT iT!). Since the holiday season is not one of the typical four and is not marked on our calendars, I will do everyone a favor and note the FDA approved exact dates of the “season.” It starts at 8:67AM the day after Halloween, when your dentist office starts playing Christmas music, and it goes straight up to the day you finally run off that last calorie of pecan pie, which happens to be the day right after never.
If someone ran up to me right now and threatened to rub a pickle on my eyelids if I did not explain the holiday season to them with a single story, I would probably describe what happened the day after Thanksgiving. I went to the sink to get some water. After turning on the faucet, I watched in horror as the water streamed over two pieces of pumpkin pie crust, lying abandoned on the sink bottom. (Here comes the moment that I believe so fully encapsulates the holiday.) I immediately slammed off the tap and saved the two crusts, in an identical manner as I would save kittens from a burning building. Now, whether or not I knew the abandoner — the empty souled person who had slurped up all the creamy pumpkin pie insides and then left the crust to die, DIE, in the sink—is not important.What is important, however, is that I then proceeded to eat them. Both.
I know what you’re thinking: Dat Ariel chick STAYS cute. You might also be thinking that eating out of the kitchen sink is not sanitary, especially considering my mom had earlier that day emptied turkey guts in there. I’m also pretty sure infants have bathed in there too, but that’s beside the point.
So pie (no actually, pi) is clearly the best part of the holiday season. And the worst part of the holidays is the day when you must tell your teacher that your bubbly presence will be missed the week before Christmas break. (Sorry! Holiday break, not Christmas. We do live in Newton, after all.) So anyway, you’ll be leaving a few days early for the break, which conveniently does not actually begin until Christmas night. Your atrocious early departure is due to your parents RUDENESS and FOOLISHNESS for deciding Grandma and Grandpa are more important than school this year. However, the need for such a loving family reunion will go unseen by your teacher, since you will be missing the year’s MOST IMPORTANT classes: watching Santa Clause III, and of course, Elf.
Speaking of Santa, I was the most fervent believer in the third grade. I also proudly kept that title in middle school, though the reaction quickly changed from “Oh look, Ariel’s so cute!” to more of “Ariel, stop digging tunnels in the playground for Santa’s elves, and go play with the other children.” I actually, in all seriousness, believed in Santa almost until my Bat Mitzvah. Judge all you want — Jews can be just as faithful to muh main brother S. Clause as anyone. (S.C. if you’re out there, I still believe. CaLL mE!)
