Emma June Grosskopf

I haven’t asked for my roommates’ opinions about my holiday habits. Since said roommates are actually the mice under my sink, the high level of hostility on my end has made it difficult for them to voice any of their complaints. We just really aren’t in a great place right now.

They watched as I bought a Christmas tree 2 weeks before Thanksgiving, decided to take it out of the box to determine whether or not it was, in fact, 4 feet tall, and then concluded that I should just leave it up. Nothing wrong with getting into the Christmas spirit a little early.

They’ve been silent on the front of my Christmas music habits, and the fact that I started getting Holly Jolly around, say, Halloween seems to have gone unnoticed and uncontested.

That’s the great thing about living with such adaptable roommates. I can educate them about the best version of “Last Christmas” (spoiler alert: it’s Wham! Anyone who disagrees with this can continue to do so because it’s a free country, but just be glad you don’t live with me) or the little-known gem that is the Oak Ridge Boys’ 1982 Christmas album. Look, it’s my apartment, my 4-foot Christmas tree and my mice, and we will listen to whatever Christmas music we want.

I have a 40 second video of me in my bathroom lip-syncing Celine Dion’s version of “O Holy Night,” and it’s the stuff dreams are made of.

I have an incredible working Elvis impression for “Blue Christmas,” and if you talk nice to me or get me elbow deep in eggnog, maybe I’ll bust it out for you.

Elton John’s “Step Into Christmas” is this year’s on-repeat holiday song, and there’s no use in arguing with me on this one because Elton John is always a good idea.

I know that my rodent roommates are just sitting in the kitchen, peeking out of a tiny hole somewhere in the wood, shaking their little mouse heads as they see me and my air-saxophone, rocking around my twerpy fake Christmas tree.

I’m not a monster. I would be more than happy to throw a bone to the mice and play a rodent-centered holiday tune, but I absolutely refuse to play “The Chipmunk Song,” and there weren’t any American Tail Christmas movies named anything like “Christmas in America” or “Fievel and Friends Try Fruitcake and Instantly Regret It” with groundbreaking soundtracks, otherwise I’d be happy to oblige.

All I can really say on the matter is that I am appreciating living alone without any human roommates. I get to decorate how I want and sing all of the (best) Christmas songs I want, and no one can really tell me how corny I’m being or how gaudy my décor is. It’s incredible to have that freedom when the only possible complaints could come from the mice in the kitchen.

And like I said, we aren’t in a great place right now.

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