I’ve been with the boyfriend for almost 10 years. And yes, there are reasons why after 10 years he is still just the boyfriend and not, say, the live-in boyfriend or even the husband. But, that’s not for public consumption. However, the following peeve is.
I’ve probably mentioned I’m not the most festive of people when it comes to the holidays. But, I do enjoy having a tree in my home. I like the lights. And when I have the time and energy (which excludes this year) I enjoy shopping for fun and thoughtful gifts for friends and colleagues. And really, that’s about it. And I’m especially not a big fan of Christmas music or pageants.
The boyfriend, however, the counter-culture traditionalist, loves all the traditional aspects of Christmas. And one thing he really loves is the annual Dickens Christmas Faire (there’s that pesky “e” again) at the Cow Palace in San Francisco.
I hate the Dickens Faire. There, I said it.
If you’ve never heard of it, essentially it is an overpriced fantasyland where former drama students can wander about wearing silly costumes while speaking in bad olde English accents and harass complete strangers who aren’t buying the that they are in Victorian London. I think I become a prime target because I always look so miserable. And while there are some performances that are interesting, I am in no way as enchanted as they are with themselves.
Yet, the boyfriend loves to go. He starts mentioning it sometime in early November. Throughout December he reminds me weekly of how long it is going to be in town. And finally, the week before, like a little kid, he reminds me multiple times that we should get there early so we can catch all the performances. Sure honey, gee, I’d hate to miss yet another variation on a naughty Victoria burlesque review. Sigh.
Yet, every year I go. Sometimes with with good humor, sometimes not. At least this year he recognizes that I might not be up for a full day at ye olde faire, so he suggested we take separate cars. Not a bad idea. Frankly, I may just head over to Chinatown and find an emporium of cheaply made little tacky trinkets to throw in some little gift bags and call it a Christmas.
So, today I shall rest and be on call for work. Tomorrow, I’ll smile and try to summon some enthusiasm for going to that damn faire. If I can keep focused on how happy it makes him, I should be fine. But, I fear I’ll go into major judgement mode (who are these people, why do they spend so much money on these costumes, and why won’t they just leave me alone?) and start having a miserable time. Yes, separate cars is a very good idea indeed.