I’ve Got a Secret!

And I’m willing to divulge it here, in this very private forum known as the worldwide web!
Come closer to your monitor and cup your hands around these words, ’cause I don’t want anyone who isn’t YOU to be privy to this very top secret, never before divulged information!
The secret is this: “Secret Santa” sucks!
“But … but … Jodi,” you’re saying with a smirk and, if you’re capable, an eyebrow raise, “that’s no secret! Everyone knows that!”
Well, yes.
And no.
Yes, in that so many people say to themselves in private that it sucks, and sometimes over frozen yogurt lunches whisper conspiratorially to that one special office pal that it sucks, and many scream it in private in written form in special pastel-paged diaries with tiny, largely decorative locks. If polled anonymously with no fear of backlash or reprisal, an overwhelming majority of people would admit that they “fucking hate” the whole concept of Secret Santa and resent it with a passion ordinarily reserved for the private hatred of small children and store-bought tiramisu.
No, in that no one has the guts or balls or gumption or gall to say it aloud and proud(ly). No one has what it takes to raise his or her hand during the staff meeting and say, without a hint of voice quaver, “Secret Santa sucks. And not only that, it blows. Oh, and I hate it. It’s an obligation, and I don’t want to get stuck buying some nonsensical oversized mug for one of the people I hate in this office, who would happen to be just about any of you, including the one person I whispered conspiratorially to earlier today over frozen yogurt about how much I hate Secret Santa. Also, I plan to give the oversized mug my Secret Santa gets me, to Toys for Poor Kids, and really, that’ll suck even harder because everyone knows kids don’t like coffee. Even poor kids.”
So what are you waiting for? Take the $15 you’ve reserved for your Secret Santa gift — because you know you haven’t bought the stupid thing yet and are waiting for whatever it is to go on sale at the Hallmark store tomorrow morning — and waste it on something more honest and satisfying, like a few frozen yogurts you can eat in peace, by yourself.
Which, really, is all anyone wants anyway. And that, my friends, is no secret.