by Radclyffe U. Hall
There are two kinds of lesbians on Christmas. The first kind of lesbian likes to cuddle next to the fire, make gingerbread houses, exclusively listen to Christmas music on their eight-track and/or ipod, and volunteer at the Santa Clause Parade. The second kind of lesbian prefers to drink heavily, eat sushi, watch horror movies, and avoid homeless people. I, for one, am all for Christmas. I no longer believe in Jesus and I’m still on the fence about Santa Claus, but I can recognize the world’s best holiday.  In my twenty or so years of life, Christmas has always been wonderfully memorable. I cannot think of one thing – except maybe sexy women in Santa hats and boots – that is better than Christmas. So now I salute the baby version of Jesus with my top five best Christmas moments: 

1. For the first ten years of my life, I thought I was baby Jesus. You see, I was born on December 25th. My Mom was a dedicated church go-er and Jehovah’s Witness. I was an androgynous baby. I slept in a manger for ten years. My Mom insisted that in order to be a good Christian, I had to spend my birthday participating in the church’s midnight mass. Until I turned ten, I laid in the manger throughout the entire sermon. Occasionally one of the wise men would wink at me. The others kids were definitely jealous. I was the star. That is all.  

2. One Christmas morning, I woke up really early to check on my presents and to see if Santa ate the cookies I left for him. Well he hadn’t. However, I heard my parents arguing loudly in the kitchen. I assumed it was over who loved me more. I waited under the tree in the hopes of giving them a great Christmas surprise. Then I saw my Mom slap my Dad and wondered if they were re-enacting my favourite scene from the movie Showgirls. Then my Dad ran for the door, but not before something fell out of his pocket. I quickly grabbed it and ran into my room. I knew it was something special my Dad had left for me. One hundred dollars! Score! He never came back.

3. By the time Grade Six hit, I was in a dark place. I no longer believed in the spirit of Christmas. For the past couple of years, the teacher would ask the class to write their annual letter to Santa Claus. Initially, I had refused to waste paper and time. But finally, I decided to let this “Santa Claus” know exactly what I thought about him. I told him that he was stupid and criminally obese. I also let him know that I thought he was a big fraud, just a symbol used to brainwash kids into being good for their parents. I told him I wanted a lump of coal. But a week later, a miraculous thing happened! Santa Claus had written me back. He knew who I was! Not only was he grateful for my letter, he also did not take offense to any of the horrible things I said. He is truly a Saint. I knew then that we had a special bond. I have written to him every year since, letting him know what I am up to and how my love life is going. If you too would like to write to him, just address your letter to:  

Santa Claus
North Pole
HOH OHO
Canada 

4.  One year in high school I volunteered to be the alternate Santa, just in case Jamie, the sexy, popular jock with slick long black hair couldn’t do it. Minutes before the school Christmas pageant, Jamie was involved in a fatal car accident of the leg. In the face of this horrible tragedy, I had to be brave and embody the soul Saint Nicholas. My bravery was majorly paid off when all the hotties in school had to sit on my knee – in their kilts! I was excited but nervous that I would be discovered as an imposter. Amazingly, due to my broad shoulders and masculine physique, nobody even knew the difference.

5. Back in University, when I was doing a double major in bio-engineering and movies, I was very shy. Every year my college residence would host an X-Mas party, which was similar to a Christmas party, but sexier. Unfortunately, I would miss this annual event due to a bad rash or headache. In reality, I was just scared. Across the hall from me was a girl named Amy, who I was convinced, was Jodie Foster. Every year she would hang a mistletoe outside her door in case somebody knocked. I often gazed longingly. One year I decided to hit two birds with one stone. I dressed “sexy” because it was required at the party – I chose red leggings with stirrups and a large black vest. I also drank my first eggnog of which I had never known to contain alcohol. But once I started, I couldn’t stop. I knew that Amy was at the X-mas party but I was having trouble concentrating on anything other than my stirrups. This was when I realized that I had gotten drunk, something new and unusual to me at the time. I got up to run to the bathroom but instead collapsed outside of Amy’s room. The next morning I woke up on her floor and to my surprise, was not wearing my vest. Amy was asleep in her bed and the mistletoe was in the trashcan. I knew she had thrown it out because she had finally found someone worth kissing. Me! We haven’t spoken since.

I am still waiting for my annual holiday luck this year, I know it will be a good one!