Each month on this twisted holiday list feels like a strangely accurate inside joke from the universe. January’s orange is almost disappointingly practical, while February’s Labrador feels like too much responsibility disguised as a dream. March’s cheesecake is comfort food perfection, then April’s “prison sentence” crashes in like a dark punchline no one saw coming. The emotional whiplash becomes the whole point.
By the time May flashes an engagement ring and June is slapped with “nothing,” the pattern is clear: this isn’t about fairness, it’s about chaos. July’s lone slice of pizza, August’s Bahamas escape, and September’s shiny new car only sharpen the sting of October’s coal and December’s emptiness. Yet beneath the absurdity, there’s a warm truth: the real gift is everyone crowded around a screen, laughing, protesting, and secretly hoping next year their month finally catches a break.
