by Katie Harper
Today is Thanksgiving in America, but let’s face it, we’re really just carbo loading for the twenty four hour orgy of greed that is Black Friday. My favorite part of Thanksgiving is the newspaper. That huge Encyclopedia Britannica size roll of paper filled to bursting with full color sale ads. These sales start at 10:00 (Walmart) on Thursday night and run until Friday evening. It is literally the biggest shopping day of the year and my own personal holy day.
I proudly worship at the altar of the retail gods. When I shop Black Friday I have a detailed attack plan. I assign objectives to fifteen of my nearest and dearest. If my brother Jason shows up at the rally point without a Disney Princess Ultimate Castle, he will be flogged. I take this shit seriously. Last year, I did all my Christmas shopping in one day. In one day I purchased a gift for my parents, in laws, four brothers, three sisters in law, one sister, one brother in law, three nieces, two nephews, grandparents, one spoiled rotten daughter, and myself, who I take very good care of every Christmas, in one twenty four hour period. That’s it. One marathon day of shopping and I’m done. Tell me that isn’t worth an Olympic gold medal.
Now, before you start spitting your hateful venom about the commercialization of Christmas, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I know Christmas spirit isn’t measured by the size of your gift. I know that Christmas isn’t about presents. I get all that touchy feely crap. I just get it while wrapped in my new cashmere throw watching my little girl playing with her new Rebecca American Girl’s doll. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have store maps to study.