Last night’s airing of How The Grinch Stole Christmas marked the 40th anniversary of the charmingly cheesy made-for-TV special.

At first I wasn’t in the mood for animated who-nonsense narrarated by Frankenstein accompanied by a theme sung by Tony the Tiger. Another one of the 40 days of Christmas Retail Hell had passed with all of its noise, noise, noise and there wasn’t a drop of beer in the house.

My customers can be childishly rude, impatient, cheerless, greedy. Stink. Stank. Stunk! Over the years, they have stripped any sense of spirit I had for the holiday period bookended by Thanksgiving on one end and the Epiphany on the other. The last general manager at II before me became a rabid, fundamentalistic atheist by the end of his decade of service to the ungrateful skill toys consumer community. These are just toys, damnit! Why is there such a fervor over the dumbest of non-essential commodities on the planet. Even Mr. Costanza gave up on the doll.

Nothing could be more joyless than being a minimum wage stock clerk in the Wal-Mart toy department on Christmas Eve. I can’t imagine their plight. We should start a charity.

Anyway, back to Boris. I eventually got into the story. The simplicity of the message began to sound familiar. My 3 year old was getting into it, too. There we were…the perfect little holiday family.

Then the commercial break. Olie turned his attention back to his Elmo game on the Mac. Mo started to fall asleep on the couch. By the time the Grinch returned, he was already sitting in my chair.