An Utterly Counterfactual History of Buttermilk

In Which I Brave the Mall Two Days Before Christmas and Learn the True Meaning of America

I hate shopping. I pride myself on banging out 90% of my holiday gift list by burning up the Internet on Black Friday weekend. Ohhh, but that last 10%....

And that is how I find myself overwhelmed by retail options and surrounded by surly teenagers and stressed-out procrastinators. My mission is to buy gifts for three adolescent boys, who are fine, polite, upstanding young men, not at all spoiled, but certainly not in need or even want of anything at all. Somehow, my husband has determined that the perfect gift would be sports jersey shirt things bearing the name of particular players who…I really don’t know, I’m not a sports person. At this task I fail spectacularly, in spite of looking lost and plaintive in five, FIVE, different shops teeming with jock employees and carrying only this sort of thing. However, I did learn a few things that I hope are meaningful, because life is short and I can’t get those three hours back.

1) There is just too much useless, superfluous, poorly-made, unnecessary crap for sale in a mall. No one needs this stuff. Miles and miles of stuff. Oh. My. God. The sheer amount of stuff.

2) Spencer’s Gifts is now a head shop. When did this happen? In the suburban New Jersey of my youth, when malls were unavoidable (this was before the internet, my children), Spencer’s sold things like naughty board games and naughty tchotchkes and tasteless pranks and gags. Peeing little boy statuettes and classy items like that. Now they sell black lights, Bob Marley shirts, and sex toys. In the mall. In the suburbs.

3) Speaking of suburbs, I have to admit it: people are just nicer, and I am getting used to it. A guy thought he might have cut me in line at Starbuck’s and apologized profusely. There was a time when I would have assumed that this excessive courtesy was just a come-on, but that time passed ten years and one pregnancy ago. I have to just admit that he was being nice. And I must be getting soft because.... I like it.  However….

4) The “Hot In Cleveland” effect is real. I have been shocked by the number of young, attractive men who give me the once-over. At first I thought I was hallucinating, due to my advanced age and inevitable senility, but then guys started to patently hit on me. I started to look around and it turns out that suburban women my age are not especially focused on their appearance. (Spin that any way you want, maybe they aren’t as shallow as city women or maybe they give up on looking good…bottom line, the fashion in my conservative small town is Mom-jeans and the hairstyle of Southern Baptist politician’s wife.)  By comparison, I am "hott"; boys flirt with me in Shop-Rite,..... and I like it.

To sum up, malls are ugly, materialistic, shallow places where no one should be spending time during the holidays. And yet, the place was packed. So what does this say about America?

I don’t really know, I think I’m just writing this whole thing to avoid thinking about my estranged father who may be dying (or not, hard to tell by the rumors that trickle through my flighty family grapevine) and will be in the area for two days around New Year’s. But that’s not a very Christmas-y theme. And since I’ve been putting this off for fifteen years, that is, the worrying about what I will do when he is dying and we are still estranged, I am giving myself permission to continue put it off until Monday.

To Whom It May Concern: Warm Wishes for a Lovely Whatever

Your children are adorable. Let’s just start there. I mean it, no irony, I love to see their little faces this time of year.

But I don't like your holiday card. There. I said it. Let me give you a few minutes to reel in shock and horror and gather rotten fruit to pelt me with.

…..

Recovered a bit? Ok, here it is. Over the past few years I have noticed a transition from carefully selected cards with warm personal wishes to commercially printed postcards that are sent to me because I appear with dozens of other people on your computer generated list. It’s as if the goal has shifted from “thinking of you” to “here’s our best snapshot of the kids in Aruba.”

I’m not asking for a long letter, or even an entirely hand-written card, but is it too much to ask that you sign your name, or write my name, or give some indication that a human being sent this holiday greeting? I realize how much work it is to write out each card and envelope, but think of it this way: if you have too many people on your list to sign your name on each card, then you have too many people on your list. In the words of the sage Dr. Seuss, speaking about the Grinch, “Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store/Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

I have a cousin who signs her cards by hand with a very brief “hope to see you soon” or “have a great year.” She always selects cool cards. Another cousin stages elaborate photo shoots with props, themes, and the kids in costume. One friend always writes a brief note on the back of her photo card (I still have the one she sent while I was pregnant with my son because I was touched by it…and yes, I do recycle most of your cards.) I look forward to receiving these each year, because I feel like they actually thought about me when sending their cards. Their cards are thoughtful, and well-thought out. I feel like more than just an entry in their excel file of addresses.

Be honest: you spend more time picking the best photo for the card than you do thinking about what you want to say to me at this time of year. Of course, you may fairly point out that I don’t send out holiday cards at all (as I mentioned, it’s a lot of work, and I never seem to pull it off.) So to remedy this situation, I have lovingly crafted the following holiday greeting for each and every one of you:

Dear Your Name Here,
Thank you for the lovely picture of your family. It’s always amazing to see how quickly children/pets grow! I hope you are having a fine Hannukah/Christmas/Solstice/Kwanzaa/Festivus. You haven’t specifically asked/called/visited/emailed, but I’m sure you’re glad to know that we are all well. (Although, we moved to Connecticut a year ago. You might want to update your address file/get in touch occasionally.)
Hope to see you soon!
Your Relative/Friend/Husband’s Friend’s Wife,
Elizabeth