Hello from Hawaii! I hope you don’t mind I’m still in my bikini. My goodness, it’s so balmy here I don’t want to wear anything else!
I’m sure I need no introduction. It is I who purr from your stereo every Thanksgiving through Christmas asking your main man of merriment for many an indulgence.
But in case you didn’t get the followup: Santa is a loyal lover, and my swooning did no swinging him over to my side.
He did bring me the 54 Convertible, though. Light blue. With a wink.
I like to think that, although he remained faithful (you try giving up Mrs. Claus’s cookies), he did applaud my audacity of asking.
After all, at least I was honest about what I wanted. Which leads me to the reason we’re here. I’ll make this quick. Despite what you think of me, I’m no tease. I have a pina colada and tanned pool boy to which I’d prefer to quickly return.
Here goes. Why are you all such haters on Ebenezer Scrooge?
See, Scrooge and I are on a long list of wintery villains meant to serve a lesson to the good little boys and girls of the world. And we’re sick of it.
The Abominable Snowman? Looking for a friend.
The mean magician stealing Frosty’s hat? A closeted gay man trapped in a suffocating world where snowmen are allowed be themselves but he is not. That would make anyone kind of bitchy.
The Heat Miser, a product of global warming. You did that to yourselves.
Thus, I beg this season you perhaps try to see the nice in the ways we were all naughty.
Through this lens, Mr. Scrooge takes on a warmer light.
He believed in hard work, making money, and screening someone for drugs before they got welfare.
He didn’t pay his taxes because he was smart. He was trying to bring jobs to his countrymen. He had high standards and didn’t pay his workers if he deemed what they did a bad job, even if they put in their time and totally gave him a chance to tell them to stop before they were done. He wanted to build a wall to keep the ghosts out and make them pay for it.
I know how much you all love a blustery old business man with “balls”! Why not love Scrooge, pre-epiphany? The mixed messages you send are really quite atrocious, holiday hounds.
Perhaps with this newly opened mind you can also get behind my theory that The Nutcracker is a really strange story about an uncle who is a little too interested in imagining his young niece of Victorian-era marrying age.
But that’s none of my business.
(Real talk though: Eartha Kitt was sexxxxay!)
