I ruined Christmas again. I seem to always mess it up somehow, but this year was the worst.
One Christmas I ruined was a few years ago, when I turned vegetarian. Apparently, I “complicated” everything. No goose fat, special gravy, a main substitute. So much extra effort for one single, sensitive, special snowflake. It was tough, but we got through it. I just had to eat my dinner in the bathroom.
A few years before that even, I ruined Christmas when I came out as trans. Apparently, I “complicated” everything. No Lynx Africa, special pronouns, hormone substitutes. So much extra effort for one single, sensitive, special, transgender snowflake. It was tough, but we got through it. I just had to open my presents in the shed, and not let my grandparents see me in case they die of shame.
But those Christmases were a long, long time ago now. Since then, I have developed a thing called confidence and self respect. People tell me that I now have something called a personality, which sounds scary — but isn’t so bad once you get used to it.
This year was going fine until the early evening. Myself, my dad, sister and her boyfriend had just finished dinner, and were settling down in the lounge to watch some classic Christmas movies. You have to watch movies at Christmas, even if they’re excruciatingly shit, because it’s what Jesus did. We watched all the classics: Tim Allen in Conservative Santa 2, Elf ’n’ Safety 3, Ernest Deletes Christmas & Vera Drake.
A good time was being had by all, until my sister switched over to Sky Movies’ special, seasonal channel “The Harry Potter 24/7 On Loop Channel”, where Sky plays all the Harry Potter films, simultaneously in a split screen grid formation, on loop — 24/7 (for the 7 months leading up to Christmas day).
As soon as it came on, something stirred in me. A feeling I’ve not had before, a deep, hot, trans identified RAGE that caused me to see red. I blacked out — the last thing I remember being the shrill sound of Ron screaming.
I awoke in a daze, splayed out on the living room carpet — my disapproving family looking over me — my sister holding her boyfriend and weeping. My dad pacing back and forth, red faced. I sat up, and turned my pounding head to see the television completely smashed in — smoke emanating from it’s base.
Later, my sister’s boyfriend will tell the police that I “just went completely mental”. Apparently, I headbutted the 50 inch plasma 24 times, while screaming “Fuck you Joanne. I refuse to watch your transphobic shit ever, ever again”.
My family have since requested that if I want to attend Christmas next year, it’ll have to be over Zoom — covid or not, so I don’t ruin it again.
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