Andy Williams is a Damned Liar

                   Look at his stupid lying face.


                Look at his stupid lying face.

Since before I can remember, I’ve looked forward to Christmas with an over-excited anticipation rivaled only by this kid. I still love decorating my tree, baking Christmas cookies and selecting the perfect gifts for my friends and family. But after spending the Thanksgiving with my happily paired off family, a gloom has fallen over the once festive time.

(I’m sorry again for the sappy, pathetic post. Apparently something was knocked lose a few weeks ago. And by something, I mean the logical, emotionally mature portion of my brain.)

During most of the year I appreciate my single status—though lately the truth seems to be draining from that statement—but at Christmas I am surrounded by saccharine couple love that seems to be further sweetened by the holiday lights and spiked eggnog. ‘Tis the season for smitten couples, holiday proposals (I witnessed three during one trip to Rockefeller Center last New Year’s), and Mr. & Mrs.’s first Christmas. My immediate family has grown by two lovely sister-in-laws in the past couple years. And though they are a blessing to my two love struck brothers, it can be a bit strange being the only sibling who hasn’t held her own in the family expansion.

In addition to the seemingly increased visibility of the happily-ever-afters, there are so many activities the holidays bring that appeal to my dormant romantic side. Activities that inevitably trigger my desire to join the ranks of the blissfully attached. Work Christmas parties can be a challenge when you are the only individual lacking a plus one. (Though this year, I think I may actually have company at the singles table—yet another perk of the new gig.) Viewings of holiday movies tend to be more fun when they involve nauseating cuddling. And New Year’s without someone to smoochie poo when the ball drops is a bit of a let down.

I have no intention of picking up some random yet willing sucker to couple up with for the holidays so I’m left with one of two options. Wallow and embrace the delicious seasonal drinks that will mask self-pitying alcoholism as festive imbibing or continue to enjoy the numerous perks of a singleton including the freedom to spend the holidays with spectacular friends and family.

When I started this post I was so focused on the crappy aspects of a holiday spent alone and the truth is, there is a great deal of seasonal fun to be had with my detached friends. Ice skating at the Depot can be a mighty fine time even without a cuddly bear to break your fall. And building ginger bread houses with the girls can be a lot more fun than sharing the activity with a pouty scrooge who begrudgingly adheres red hots to a slanted ginger roof in attempt to placate you and your hyperactive holiday spirit.

Also, the lack of a guy to spend an inordinate amount on frees up funds so I can put more under the tree for friends who mean more to me than some of the passing ships on whom I’ve spent stupid cash and hours of time finding the perfect Star Wars/Sports/Insert other lame guy thing here-themed gift.

So maybe I was wrong, maybe Andy Williams isn’t a damned liar. Perhaps I just need to pull myself out of my absurd, self-induced malaise and enjoy the season for what it is.