Yes, Pumpkins, I’m primed, greased and raring to see the back side of 2012. The infernal thing just won’t end. And even the end wasn’t to be.
Those Mayans were onto something, though, besides inventing hot chocolate belly shots (which I proffered myself up for at the Tulum doomsday wackathon. But they said tradition demanded a virgin. Oh pish, you’re waiting for the end of the world. What’s a hymen got to do with it?)
Anyhoo. What I’m getting at is that I can tell a difficult era has finally run its course.
Has there ever been a more confusing year, Pumpkins? (Besides the one when Pat Brigham greeted the cops in a chicken suit). It all started out wrong when that calzone-for-brains steered a cruise ship into land. Oopsy! Who put that out there?
Lots of people went somewhere else. Like Malaysia. Or Air Canada. I’m still having trouble picturing Claude Morin over a coffee machine – of course I mean at the coffee machine - sharing airline banter with Michael Friisdahl. (The seats are not on risk, Michael. Keep breathing.)
There were freak storms and hurricanes. Thomas Cook hired a woman. WestJet is looking for one. Sunwing is taking over the world. And Travelzest is still looking for buyers. (Whenever I find myself on that corner, dahrlings, I simply drop my price. Only sometimes they roll up the window and drive off before I get a chance to haggle.)
Now that 2013 is here, I’m looking forward to putting all that nonsense behind me. Sadly, the reflection in my boudoir mirror suggests I’ve already put a lot of 2012 behind me. Never mind. A bit of junk in the trunk is hardly the end of the world.
