Dear Whoever Invented Secret Santa,
I get it. The holidays are the one time of year when we pretend to give a fuck about peace on earth and people other than our SoulCycle instructor, the hottest barista, and that dog we saw on the street yesterday. You probably thought that exchanging gifts at random was a cute, festive idea. How were you supposed to know that instead, Secret Santa had the potential to become one of the most awkward, annoying, and fucking expensive Christmas traditions out there?
Oh, wait. Only an idiot would have missed that.
What were you thinking? If I wanted to buy someone a gift, I would buy them a gift. It’s hard enough going shopping for the people I genuinely like, and trust me, that’s a very exclusive group. (You, Secret Santa inventor, are definitely not on the list.) Buying stuff for other people takes the kind of self-control I have to spend all year building up so I don’t wind up walking out with three bags full of shit for myself and exactly zero for my mom. I have no desire to waste it on the guy who’s constantly stealing my coconut water from the work fridge or the girl who puked in the potted plant at last year’s office holiday party. If you can’t hold your alcohol, I’m not going to associate with you long enough to buy you anything other than a hair tie and some tissues for next time.
Besides, aren’t holidays supposed to be about giving for the sake of giving, not giving for the sake of sucking up to your boss? Secret Santa turns presents into a super stressful obligation every year—one that winds up costing approximately a fuckton more than I would spend on anyone else. I barely know what to buy my bestie (OK, fine, it’s usually vodka) and I’m somehow expected to buy a bunch of cute stuff for Carol from accounting? Fuck no. She has six kids and a bad haircut. She’s getting wine and fuzzy socks, just like everyone else. And then she winds up hating me because I gave her shitty presents.
I know this for a fact because I hate my Secret Santa every year for not buying better presents. It’s almost like they don’t know me or something.
In conclusion, inventor of Secret Santa: Go fa-la-la-la-fuck yourself.