Good tidings for Christmas.

I went to the mall yesterday. Saturday. The weekend before Christmas. Worst Idea Ever. Or at least a close second. I've had some dumb ideas over the years. Like that one time I refinanced my car, or the time I thought it wise to not only own, but essentially max, numerous credit cards.

What? I needed all of that stuff from Victoria's Secret. And GAP. And Best Buy. And Kwik Trip...

Moving on.

So, the mall. I went there; a drive that is usually, under normal circumstances, about 20 minutes. But someone forgot to remind me that it was approximately five minutes from Christmas, and every other no good slacker was also rushing to the mall to get that one, last, tiny, little present that they nearly forgot to buy.

The one for their spouse. Whoops.

And so it took nearly an hour to get there. I thought it odd that the interstate traffic seemed so light yesterday. I even said that aloud, it was funny. Funny like that's because everyone who was on the interstate prior was now packed within a two-block radius of the mall, all vying for the one available parking spot within a 3-mile radius of Barnes & Noble.

Dammit.

It was like musical chairs. People racing, honking, swearing. Turning circles. Banging heads on steering wheels. Flipping the bird. Screaming. At least I was, anyway. Ah, Christmas spirit.

GIVE ME A DAMN PARKING SPOT YOU NO GOOD SON OF A... I HATE YOU! HATE!

It was a lot like that. Although I think I handled it quite well, considering. Thank you, Celexa.

I did eventually find a parking spot, and eight miles (uphill and barefoot)* later, I made it to Macy's. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you. Now, I don't normally openly and aloud thank Jesus Christ for many things, but I figured if it weren't for him and his birth, and whatnot, I wouldn't even be at the mall, battling traffic to search for a specific present at the absolute last minute in order to celebrate him properly.

So I thought the man should take some credit.

After taking out a few women and children who stood in my way in the aisles of fine department stores, I found my present and was on my way out the door, triumphant.

It felt almost uplifting to pull away from my parking space and watch all the crazy assholes fight for it like vultures. More honking. More name-calling.

Christmas is special. And there's nothing like last-minute Christmas shopping to remind me of that.

I hope each and every one of you get exactly what you were wishing for. Except you, over there. Yes, you. I hope you get coal.

Merry Christmas, guys.

*Not actually true. I had on shoes.