I feel totally sorry for January: it’s got to be the loneliest month on the calendar. All the other months have something going on. Think about it! March has Spring and sometimes even Easter; September has back to school; October has Hallowe’en; even dreary old November has Remembrance Day. Sad but true. Unfortunately, January has nothing. Okay, it got a little exciting a couple of days ago when Trump got pissed and blew up a general nobody ever heard of until he came apart at the seams (Too soon? Probably not.) but normally, January has to act like it’s overjoyed to be forever known as “The Month after Christmas.” That’s like being Santa Claus’ little sister. Not a lot of career opportunities and you can pretty much forget about a date for the Prom.
“Hey, I’m going to ask Susan Claus to the Prom.”
“No way, man! You don’t want go there. That’s Santa’s sister. Mess that one up and you’ll be on the Naughty List for the rest of your life.”
So what have we got to look forward to in January? Elvis’ birthday on January 8th (we missed it — again) Dress-up Your Pet Day on January 14th (that’s just morally wrong) and Burns’ Night on January 25th (celebrating a poet whose works have never been translated into English.) And it gets even worse — January is Thyroid Awareness Month. Now, doesn’t that sound like a party?
Dance to the music of Nelly and the Neck Throbs
Two for one shots of Iodine
BYOL (Bring your own levothyroxine)
Whoa! Party on, dude!
And speaking of parties, for the last couple of years, the Brits have tried to dress up the month with Dry January. That’s right. Some button- down civil servant from Whitehall decided that NOT going to the Pub all month would be a great way to take the sting out of Brexit. Yeah, right! Stay home and watch BBC News: that’ll put you in a good mood!
Plus, and this is the football boot to the goolies, January is the month when all those punitive New Year’s Resolutions kick in. The people who ODed on chocolate over Christmas are starving themselves on carrots and kale. The Quit Smoking crowd are one Marlboro away from killing somebody. And the Get Fit folks are spending half their day sweaty and the other half sore. Meanwhile, the weather sucks and the credit card bills from Christmas have arrived. It’s no wonder everybody’s miserable.
The thing is, though, it’s not January’s fault. It just happens to be stuck between the adrenaline surge of Christmas and the hormone rush of Valentine’s Day, and nobody’s going to look good with those two hogging the spotlight.
So good luck, January, you poor, pathetic, little beast! You have my sympathy, but honestly, I’ll be glad when you’re gone.