This is a mini-miserable story written by Jilly Gagnon & Mike MacDonald.
You belly crawl across the floor into your bathroom, flip on the shower, and strip naked.
This is PERFECT!
You step under the stream of water and twirl around, making sure to fully soak your hair. You flip off the water, step out, sling a towel around your hips, and walk towards the door.
“Oh, so sorry I missed you. I love carolers!” you lie. “I was in the shower.” You gesture at your soaking head for emphasis.
“That’s okay, why don’t you finish drying off and join us? The more the merrier!” says the apparent leader, a man with the kind of terrifyingly-wide smile that makes you think of the phrase “he was always such a good neighbor, so quiet.”
Join them? Somehow this horror-movie option never even occurred to you.
“Tis the season!” chimes in a woman who looks like a walking ad for condensed-soup-casseroles. She sticks her head inside the door, looking around. “Oh good, you clearly aren’t doing anything!” she exclaims. “That empty takeout container means you’ve got no plans, right?”
“Well…” Why can’t you think of a good lie? WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU?
“So, will you join us?” she asks.
How can you get out of this? You’ve got a bad case of plantar warts? No, that won’t work.
“Um, sure…” you say. You see no other option.
* * * * *
“Feed the woooooorld. Let them know it’s Christmastime again! Feed the wooooorld. Feed the wooooorld.”
Dear god, who the f*** picks Do They Know It’s Christmas for caroling? In fact, you have yet to sing a song that isn’t from some pop group’s cash-grab Christmas album, and yet somehow they’ve ignored the only good entry in that ledger, All I Want for Christmas is You.
You’re cold and miserable. How did you get roped into caroling–possibly the worst activity ever invented–when you could be warm inside, happily reading Facebook status updates, drinking a third eggnog and rum…
Since you don’t know the words to these terrible songs, the only thing for you to focus on at house after house is the contempt in the eyes of your neighbors. You wish you could somehow convey that you understand. That you hate you right now, too.
Even more than yourself, though, you hate caroling. In fact, you hate this entire f***ing season.
To read more about the Choose Your Own Misery series click here.