I am a messy wrapper
I need to shove everything in a box to wrap it
But it needs to be the right size box or it’ll bother me
And even then, the box will be wrapped by me
Thus it will look like a three year old wanted to put a teddy bear in chirstmas paper as a blanket
And that, in all honesty, is still a better wrapping job
FOR MY BOXES

I can’t decorate
The ornaments on the tree are almost all on one spot
While the few I don’t like are where no one sees them
And the wreath isn’t a doorknob decoration I learned
And the flowers aren’t being planted outside
But the candles do go in the dining room
Just not duct taped to the wall

I can’t cook
Santas cookies are burned
The ham tastes like expired jelly
The fruit cake is stale
The flour is on the wall, in my hair, down my shirt, and not in the cake
And even the dog would rather eat at McDonalds Christmas evening than eat the table scraps
I don’t know how I do it

I can’t sing
My voice cracks glasses
And not in the high pitched talent kind of way
But the howling in pain dog kind of way
Which my dog does
So I have to stop caroling
I can’t remember the lyrics to the songs anyway

I can’t make a fire in the fire place
Unless you want it in the kitchen with the ham
Your bedroom with the poorly wrapped box
The dining room with the dog
Or the living room with the guests
I can make a fire everywhere but where it should be
AND I’M THE GUY OF THE HOUSE

I am a terrible host
I spilled whine on her parents
I tripped over my son
I gave the vegetarian the ham
I told the cousins who Santa really was
I pointed out mistletoe with my grandfather and wife
And I’m so lucky she didn’t have my daughter with her

I can’t tell stories
I accidentally told my son Rudolph was for dinner
And his nose was in the fruit cake
And my daughter that Santa fits down the chimney with water
Which is why I can never make a fire
So I told her I’ll burn him...
And she kinda told my wife…

I’m a terrible gift giver
I gave my son a weight set.
Most of the weights are heavier than him
I gave my wife a lighter
And told her she’s making the fires place fires from now on
Which caused my daughter to cry
So I gave her an alarm clock

I hate snow
So I throw it at my family instead of shovel
Which makes my cousins throw more back
Which makes my sister shove peoples’ heads in the banks
Which makes her victims put snow down my sons’ jacket
Which makes him cry
Which slowly causes everyone to stop on my now non-usable driveway until I actually shovel

But one thing’s for sure
I can’t wrap gifts
Cook
Sing
Make a fire
Host a Christmas party
Tell stories
Give gifts
Or shovel
But I’m managing.
I’m 27 years old and I’ve still not figured out Christmas
But at the end of the day,
We open my wifes gifts
Order take out
Listen to carols online
Turn on the space heater
Read stories
Switch gifts
Ignore the driveway
And enjoy the two or three weeks we have
Going to bed with smiles on our faces
And some kind of managed success from dad.
I put up the tree…