Let’s try something a little different this post, okay?

I’m a little sick and tired of writing (or at least drafting) argumentative, deconstructive posts that rip apart someone or something or, well, you get the point. I have about seven just waiting (not so patiently) to be finished. Right now though I’m sitting in a coffee shop, listening to Xtina destroy — okay, perfect — some Christmas music, taking a break from preparing for my next class seminar, and all I want to do is talk about the holidays.

I’ve never been particularly big about Christmas. Or maybe I was when I was really young but for the last nine or so years? Not so much. It isn’t that I have something specific against delicious food, catchy music, festive cheer, and people being sickeningly happy. I love sparkly lights and sitcom worthy Christmas parties and everything tasting like cinnamon and pumpkin.

Plus, now that I can drink (legally, that is) I’m quickly discovering that Baileys hot chocolate are I are meant to be. We’re already preparing our vows. You’re all invited, of course.

To be honest, I’m not really sure why I was such a staunch supporter of a no-lights, no-frills, no-festive holiday season. Especially since I’ve always had this golden edged idea of the perfect Christmas. It goes a lot like one of those Hallmark holiday movies: too many parties, a massive dressy dinner with family and friends that has a full spread on a table laid in green and red and gold, a glitzy tree, stacks of brightly wrapped presents, a white cat in a red bow making a nuisance of itself. Yup, I’ve always wanted the whole shebang.

Not that I’ve ever acted like it.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a holiday sheeple.

If the people I’m around are super into Christmas I’m apparently way more likely to get into it as well. This year I’m in England, surrounded by people who don’t have to wait for Thanksgiving to pass to get into the holiday spirit, and hanging out with women who are having the same amount of luck as I am in avoiding Christmas music. Which, ultimately, is the most logical reason Christmas has suddenly become a thing in my typically Jack Frosted heart. The English don’t have Thanksgiving (shocker!) but what that means is that as soon as Halloween is over they’re ALL OVER the Christmas season.

As an American abroad, having that Macy’s Day Parade, turkey filled, pumpkin pie smelling holiday suddenly seems a million more times more important that it did back in the States. And, following that through, so does having a proper Christmas experience.

It helps that Manchester has nine markets dedicated to making me feel like I’m in some sort of winter wonderland of fudge, baklava, bratwurst, spiced alcohol, and fuzzy holiday sweaters. Wandering through Albert Square and passing stalls selling handmade snowmen figurines next to stalls trying to shove delicious Italian pastries down your throat is enough to put anyone in a good mood.

I guess I don’t really have a point other than to notify everyone that I’ve just put up fairly lights in my not-technically-a-dorm dorm room and my hot chocolate consumption levels have risen to dangerous heights. I’m not promising that next year I won’t go back to being the Grinch but for now, for this November and December?, consider my heart in need of medical attention because, baby, it just grew three sizes.