What’s So Sexy About Christmas?
Well, I know what’s NOT SEXY:
I don’t care for diamonds, but I really, really dislike Christmas jewelry ads. To me there’s some weird diamonds-for-sex discomfort going on in these ads directed at men. Or at least diamonds-for-love. Ish!
MY IDEAL CHRISTMAS COMMERICAL:
I could totally see flipping this on it’s head. In my Christmas commercial, the ad starts with a wife who wants a diamond getting some coal instead. (Just as a joke, of course, but she doesn’t think it’s funny.) Meanwhile, the kids are off on a ski vacation, because their family is so materialistic and shallow. So husband and wife face off in a huge throw-down fight about the gifts they didn’t get over the years and it escalates into both of them ripping the presents to pieces. By this point, they’re so out of their minds with fury and frustration they somehow end up having angry sex together under the tree. (Did I forget to mention that my ad is R-rated?) In the aftermath, as they lay amongst the ruined boxes and scraps of wrapping paper, they look up at the lights twinkling on the tree–when a Christmas miracle occurs! They both start remembering things they’ve given each other over the years that cost no money at all.
MORE SEXY CHRISTMAS FLUFF:
The wise men gifts sound very sexy — what were they again? Myrrh, frankincense and…gold. Exotic, warm, and luxurious.
Frost is sexy—
A sweater is so sexy, but somehow a Christmas sweater is not.
The place where you go get your Christmas tree with the hottie guys in flannel jackets who load your tree up onto the car in a manly way–they’re sexy. Or they can be. If they’re not scary.
Liz wrote about the orgasmic joy of hot chocolate here. The best hot chocolate I ever had was sexed up with a shot of hazelnut flavoring and just a wee bit of coffee – YUM!
My husband is so hooked on eggnog right now. It’s organic–from a local dairy. He calls it liquid crack. But the best holiday drink of all, as we know, is glögg. (Pronounced ‘gloog’ with your best Swedish Chef accent.) This drink will get even “oh, I don’t really drink much” lightweight folks sucking down the punchbowl. But who really serves it in a punchbowl? This stuff lives on the back burner in the kitchen where it’s hot and no one at the party knows just exactly what you’re doing back in there.
Glögg is like a great date: sweet, warm, and fragrant. It’s highly pleasant to kiss someone who’s been drinking the stuff. It’s the kind of drink that makes a girl tousle her hair a bit, and look for a knee to sit upon.
Supposedly, kissing was invented by some Viking guy coming back from the wars and tasting his wife’s mouth to see if she’d been drinking the honey mead while he was gone…I contend he came home during winter solstice and wanted to see if she’d been sipping some glögg.
This brings me to the next subject of Christmas fascination: the office party. I’ve never actually worked at an office long enough to make it to the dreaded Christmas party, but The out of control office party is such a stereotyped moment, right? These parties are the stuff of legend. The office isn’t a sexy place–well, not on the surface anyway. It’s often a total neuter zone until that holiday party just makes the sexual beings in everyone convulse. Why? And Why then?
It’s got to be some kind of group primal compulsion– a way of staving off winter’s gloaming. At what other time of the year do all the co-workers suddenly insist on getting drunk at work? Perhaps its lustful plundering is the inevitable aftermath that follows white-collar pirates dividing up the year’s bootie into fat sized Christmas bonuses.
You tell me.