I'm so over Christmas.
The decorations have been packed away, batteries are in every new toy, and I've got 6 lbs. of gingerbread men living in my butt.
I really don't want to see any more reminders of a holiday gone by.
Yet these live on:
I haven't watered them. I haven't put them near light. I haven't pruned them.
Instead, I call them bad names and curse them every time I walk past.
They refuse to die.
Where's Dr. Kevorkian when you need him?