Boxing Day is not meant for shopping; it’s meant for napping.

The world would be a better place if we could all just agree to this right now.

Everybody is a little maxed out from too much family time, food comas, potential hangovers and the incessant noise of the toy your evil relative bought your equally maladjusted nephew that plays electronic piano music that would make a maniacal clown cry.

Suffice it to say, we’re all just a little wired, okay? I call a nap.

For Christmas, I have asked for time to just be present, and on Boxing Day my only goal is to put on my droopiest fat pants, my “merry and bright” sweatshirt (aka my “fake it ‘til you make it” motto), and stretch my bloated carcass right across one side of the L-framed couch.

The message for Boxing Day is: don’t judge or I’ll put you in a box and ship you out. That’s right, I’m packing some post-traumatic Christmas stress attitude.

I make no apologies. I’m merry, just in my own way. Leave me be.

This day is kind of sacred, because the events leading up to Christmas are exhausting at best. The big day is a full-on marathon. So on Boxing Day you should be allowed to fold yourself up in a blanket, close the lid and disappear into a good book or a sappy movie.

It’s about self-care. For me to accomplish this I need to cocoon long enough to process the abundance of mashed potatoes and turkey that I stuffed down at Christmas dinner.

The gluten-free gravy was worth every ounce of cellulite I will now have to work off until July. Remember: don’t judge. On Dec. 26 I want to be as slow as a sloth.

I will summon up the strength, maybe even the conviction, to walk along the dark streets of my town and enjoy the Christmas lights on the neighbours’ homes, walk by the windows where families are gathered inside, and wave at the smoking relatives who have been relegated to the garage. Those are the people always having the most fun.

But on Boxing Day: sloth. Heck, a shower might even be a stretch. I’ll brush my teeth, but I won’t floss. There will be no meals prepped, no household chores done. Family members can fend for themselves. Surely they got candy in their stocking, right? Fill up, kids. All in.

At no point do I want to go shopping. Period. I don’t care if the flat screens are buy one, get one free – I want no part of the madness. I can’t get over the fact people have any money left. The only credit on my credit cards is on the balance statement, which is a passive aggressive reminder that sooner or later, to my credit, I will pay up (or else). Best we put Visa back in the little drawer where it belongs, under lock and key.

On. Dec. 27 I will sort through the cardboard and recycling materials from the gift packaging. I will put the new items in their new locations, and when the kids aren’t looking, I will make former objects disappear from their rooms. Poof. Magic.

I will scratch the lottery tickets. I will shower. I might floss. I will accomplish something.

There, I just created my new holiday tradition.



Kelly Waterhouse