Life happens: The grown-up side of Christmas  By Aprill Brandon
Something very strange has been going on these past few weeks.
Dec. 1 has come and gone. It has come and gone and I didn't even
care. I haven't started decorating, I haven't annoyed my husband
by belting out my dirty version of "Carol of the Bells," and I
haven't even had a sip of eggnog yet.  It's my favorite holiday,
and I haven't even acknowledged it.  But I think I know why.
See, depending on your age, the holiday season can be perceived
in many different ways.  As a kid, it's all shiny, shiny lights
and cookies and presents and big, fat men with beards whom
you've never met but nonetheless are guaranteeing to do
everything within their vast magical powers to make sure YOU
personally have a very merry Christmas.  As a teenager, it means
three weeks off school, the anticipation of your mom finally
buying you those "ridiculously over-priced" (her words) pants
with the vaguely suggestive word on the rear that you'll just
DIE without and hanging