So This Is Christmas

It’s the hap-happiest season of all… or so the song goes. But why doesn’t it feel that way? Where are the marshmallows for toasting? Does anyone even go caroling in the snow anymore? And for the record, I don’t even really like snow that much—unless I’m safely indoors, preferably with no obligations to drive or walk the dog through it. Sure, it’s pretty when viewed from behind a window, but that’s about as far as my love with snow goes.

They say it’s the most wonderful time of the year, yet I find myself relating a bit too much to Charlie Brown’s line from, ahem, A Charlie Brown Christmas: “I like getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I’m still not happy.”

Okay, maybe I’m not not happy, but I’m also not overwhelmed by the warm glow of holiday cheer that all the Hallmark movies say that I should be. The truth is, making Christmas happen can be hard work. In our house there are multiple giant trees to decorate, lights to string up inside and out, and countless Rubbermaid bins filled with ornaments, an entire Christmas village who also probably voted against their own interests, snowmen, and all manner of fragile, dust-collecting holiday paraphernalia. Add to that, with all of the bins that are now waiting to be either emptied or placed back in the garage, it’s starting to look like we are building an igloo out of plastic tubs. It’s December 9th, and our house still doesn’t resemble a Christmas wonderland. At this rate, it might be Easter before the decorations are fully up—and coincidentally, that’s around the time we finally take them down.

At least the cats are enjoying themselves. They’ve turned the fake trees into chew toys and use the stacks of bins as their personal jungle gym. And let’s not forget the festive brown and green piles of vomit they’ve thoughtfully scattered across the house. Not exactly the holiday aesthetic I was going for this year.

On Holiday Debauchery
If you’re reading this hoping for tales of sexy, thrilling, holiday-themed debauchery, prepare to be disappointed. I’ve got nuthin. Nada. Zilch. Work, the kid’s school events, and extracurricular activities have sucked up any semblance of a social life. We missed a Thanksgiving weekend house party because we were out of town, and it looks like we’ll miss the one in late December, too. We had grand dreams of a wild sexy New Year’s Eve party in another town or city, but that’s shaping up to be a total washout. Sigh.

Also, what’s the deal with “scary ghost stories” in Christmas songs? Does anyone actually tell ghost stories this time of year? It feels more like, you know, a Halloween tradition. You know what nobody likes, though? Being ghosted. And let me tell you a story about that very thing. Feel free to gather round the toasty fire.

Ghosts of Relationships Past
Recently, we connected with a newly married couple through one of the lifestyle sites we belong to. Things started off great. The wife, “Gretchen” responded to my initial message, and soon all four of us–Gretchen & “Dave” and Elise & I were texting regularly. They were low-key, much like us, and the conversations were a nice blend of casual banter with sprinkles of flirtation. Plus, they lived close by—just a 30-minute drive—making a potential meetup very convenient. I won’t lie and say that this wasn’t one of the original factors in reaching out to them.

After a month of texting almost daily, we finally aligned our schedules for a dinner date with drinks after. But then some fine hairline cracks started showing. First, they canceled on the dinner portion of the evening but said they could still meet for drinks. Fine, no big deal. Then, on the day of, they informed us they had a hard time limit because their child would be left alone. Again, we rolled with it. Elise, however, was getting frustrated since we’d passed on other plans to make this date happen. At this point in time, our schedule was booked with fun-filled activities that would warm our hearts, unlike today where the vibe is more dreary and cold. Still, we held onto our optimism, like a lukewarm cup of Swiss-Miss hot cocoa with those lil’ fake marshmellows that are probably actually made out of  clumps of bleached fat globules or some other sinister concoction.

Ok. Back to the story. Where was I? Oh yes, I remember. We did a pre-date shot to calm our nerves, Ubered to the bar, secured a table and looked over the drink menu. Elise set down the menu, fixed her gaze on me with her signature, dazzling smile, and posed her usual rhetorical question about our ongoing dabble in the “lifestyle”, “What are we even doing here?”

They arrived before I could answer and, to our relief, they looked just like their photos. Even better, Gretchen was taller than her photos let on, which I consider a plus. After semi-awkward introductions, we ordered drinks. Elise and I quickly ordered our beverages of choice since we had time to study the menu with great care. Gretchen, being the designated driver, opted for a mocktail. Dave, a self-professed bourbon connoisseur, grilled the (very new) waiter with detailed questions about their selection. When the waiter couldn’t answer, Dave seemed a bit visibly annoyed—a minor red flag, but we shrugged it off.

Conversation flowed smoothly. Elise bonded with Dave over books, while Gretchen and I chatted about her work and my hobbies. Two hours flew by, and they had to leave. Goodbyes were exchanged—though I managed to awkwardly kiss Gretchen’s hair instead of her cheek when she turned her head at the last second. (Smooth, I know. That’s how I roll.)

Back home, Elise and I worried we might’ve come across as too tipsy, but we were reassured when they texted to say they’d had a great time and were looking forward to meeting again. We later sent over some dates for a second meetup… and then, nothing, well almost to nothing.

The daily messages slowed down. Dave stopped responding entirely, and Gretchen’s replies were sporadic and lukewarm. Kinda like that cocoa above, the messages were still sweet, but there was an odd aftertaste.  After a few more days, Elise decided to stop reaching out and suggested that I do the same, leaving the ball in their court since we had provided dates for a future meetup. I, however, really hate giving up on people, so I kept sending the occasional message. But it became clear we were being ghosted.

Lessons in Letting Go
I eventually wrote them a heartfelt message expressing how much we’d enjoyed our time together and acknowledging that things felt different. I included a flattering picture of Elise and me as a gentle nudge but added that there were no hard feelings if they didn’t want to continue. Unsurprisingly, there was no reply.

There could be countless reasons why they pulled back—maybe tension in their new marriage, perhaps we came on too strong, something we said or did, or even the fact that we discovered some mutual acquaintances. Not knowing is frustrating, and while it was deeply disappointing when it first happened a few months ago, it’s still a bit of a letdown now. Life rarely provides anything resembling true closure, and the concept of an “exit interview” for relationships remains nothing more than a fantasy.

Though I almost did that very thing while writing this blog post. I actually started writing a message to Gretchen possibly asking for feedback: “Was there something we did wrong? Let me know so I don’t make the same mistake again.” But then I thought, WTF are you doing? and Have you gone mad?  and deleted it immediately.

At the end of the day, maintaining and/or strengthening your relationship with your spouse is hard enough. Trying to build new ones together with others? Even harder. Maybe that’s why Christmas can feel a bit less like the “hap-happiest season of all” and more like a marathon where everyone’s just trying to make it to the finish line. Between decorating the house, navigating social expectations, and dealing with the occasional ghost of relationships past, it’s no wonder the warm glow of holiday cheer can sometimes feel more like the flicker of a dying bulb on the Christmas tree.

But hey, at least the cats are happy, and the snow is still pretty—best when viewed from the comfort of your own home, snuggeled up with your love ones in your own little unkempt Santa-Land. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Have you been ghosted before by another couple? We would be interested in hearing about your story and how you dealt with it.