To bake, or not to bake, that is the question:
Whether tis nobler in the kitch'n to mix up
The bread and cookies of tradition's Christmas
Or to forego the effort and sea of dishes
And by giving up, gain time? To rest; to nap;
To nap, perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub
For in that sleep of December what dreams
May come: Trees naked, packages unwrapped,
Music unrehearsed and presents unpurchased.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of those
Whose Christmas is perfect, year after year,
When she herself might perfection achieve
With a little more organization.
Thus Christmas does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native warmth of the season
Is sicklied o'er with the vain pursuit of cheer;
And appreciation of Christmas's
Meaning and simplicity turns awry
Because we're just too tired. Soft you now!
I'm taking a nap.