Gird your loins, Pleasurers. Just because you’re in CharmingVille for the holidays doesn’t mean you get to miss out on polyester reindeer jumpers and Boney M. You’ve been here long enough to know you’ll take a day off on a boat-top wingding for far flimsier excuses than Lord Jesus’ big day (Paris Peace Accord booze cruise, anyone?). So dig up your dusty tree and sharpen your MasterCard, because it’s robot-snowman-playing-plastic-saxophone-fire-hazard season and there are only so many purple-glitter-pony door chimes that play Away In A Manger to go around.
If you miss out on those actual things, there’s plenty of other heartwarming Xmas-ish memories-in-the-making at this apparently sacred time of year. For sure there’ll be an awkward Secret Santa moment at work, like when you see the driver who got the joke Viagra sharing his blue candy down the car park with his chess buddies. Or that squirrelly chick from Accounts gives you a clock in the shape of a winking teddy bear wearing a festive sombrero that is obviously a regifted Aeon Club present-with-purchase with her phone number taped to the bottom. Just what you’ve always wanted.
Guaranteed there’ll be plenty of parties chockers with backpacking flimpets in babydoll elf drag if that’s your stein of glög. I’ve got a nice brandy ball recipe if you want one. Even you nay-saying Ebenezers grumping home alone will feel your cockles thawing at the sight of a copper in a Santa hat dinking his granny to the chicken shop or a pert-bottomed Wat Phnom temple lion sporting a fancy tinsel merkin. Our tropic hamlet is snowed with twisted Xmas cheer and useless yuletide tat created by those who have no clue for those of us who have everything. If you’re stuck for unique gifts I bet no one does a gold-spraypainted durian-shell manger with upcycled Psy action figure as sweet baby Jesus quite like the folks at Psar Kandal. You can practically taste the nog in the air down there. If you’re a god botherer, or even just a bit of a stickler for tradition, you might balk at IBC’s selection of Mickey-as-Messiah gift cards, but let’s be honest, none of us were there. Along with the shepherds and the donkeys and soforth, who’s to say there weren’t anthropomorphic singing mice?
Many of us either don’t know much or give two shits about Mary’s glabrous boychild, a.k.a. The Son Of God. If you’re a bit shy, cynical, or alternatively faithed, it might seem easiest to avoid the whole shebang. This can work if you’re clinically misanthropic, but anything less and come the 25th you’ll be no-mates sobbing into your yoghurt. Whatever yer ilk, don’t be a stranger to the other things that make this time of year strangely worthwhile, i.e. people. If at first you’re not feeling the twinkly glow of fairy lights and Home Alone marathons, I would still make the effort. My best suggestion is to find some Filipinos.
I know some and those krazy carollers celebrate the shit out of Christmas. If you’re out of luck in the Pinoy department, it won’t hurt to pony up for the turkey buffet brunch or the seafood boat-ride with the odd collection of mates and acquaintances you’ve collated BodeSide. Because, apart from a good reason to skive, making cheery times together is what it’s all about.
Even if it’s a little bit sad that your real kith and kin might be sharing hot toddies and a lame cracker joke 10,000 miles away without you, there’s always Skype. So put down those 27 vodkas, hush those tear-strings. You actually have your own little dysfunctional family of sorts right here in CharmingVille to help you make it through those not so merry FOMO moments. After all, that’s what friends, a felt-covered plastic-reindeer-with-flashing-red-eyes-and-a-peach-on-its-back, and a humongous box of sangria are for. Jingle on.