I don't do well with people performing in my face. Whether it be singing, acting, dancing, whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm not sure how to respond, particularly if the talent's terrible.
My poker-face is lousy. Nervous muscles twitch. One eyelid flutters, the other remains land-locked in a passive lie. I paste on a smile, a jittery one, one that looks like the Joker's having an epileptic fit, while I try to make it through the performance on my stoop.
This year, I've been lucky so far. No singing visitors yet. But every time the UPS guy rings the doorbell, my heart skips a beat. Caroling will happen eventually, yes it will. When it does, I hope I handle it with a modicum of decency: no screaming, hurling, and a minimum of eye-rolling.
The whole idea of caroling, I think, is kinda odd, not to mention an infringement upon people's rights. I didn't sign up for a personal, one-on-one concert on my doorstep.
"Merry Christmas," I'd like to say, "ho-ho-ho, and get the hell offa my porch, ya psychos, before I get a restraining order!"
Look, I'm a writer. But I know better than to ring your doorbell, sit down with my laptop, and write on your stoop. It's like a surgeon rolling a patient up on a gurney to your door, strapping on a mask, and removing a gall bladder. Which makes me kinda wonder what hookers do this time of year.
I've been told carolers invade because they're struck by the holiday spirit. I get that, I do (even if it sounds a little violent). But, carolers, please, please, PLEASE just send me a video, disc, link, something where I don't have to grimace and bear it in your face.
But you know what? In the spirit of the holiday, in the hopes of the new year being better than 2017, with the goal of getting along with my fellow inhabitants of earth, I'm gonna let the carolers carol at me.
In fact, let's all forget how ugly 2017 got. Let's embrace compassion, tolerance, and acceptance no matter how the "leader of the free world" is leading by example.
Happy New Year and peace.
Too funny, but true.
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