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There is no greater collection of grumps, cranks and grouches than what shows up during the joys of the Christmas season.
Five more days and then everyone can stop being so snarly, take off the shopping shoulder pads, get some sleep and return to just being pleasantly petulant as usual. Well, right after returning all their Christmas presents Saturday, anyway.
Then none of us will have to be crabby again until sometime in January, when all the Christmas bills start arriving.
Turning festive occasions into madness seems to be the favorite pastime of our species. It is this kind of intelligence that separates us from the beasts.
We cannot leave pleasantness alone without trying to improve upon it with hustle, bustle, tension, competition, diet and budget busting.
Your average squirrel lacks this sort of brainpower. When times get tough, he just scampers up a tree. He refuses to be disturbed by angst. When calmness returns, so does he.
What kind of reasoning does this take?
Throw a pig into a muddy situation, and he will flop around in it, sigh and doze off to sleep.
If pigs were smart, they would know it's the holidays and that they need to spruce up this pigsty before the neighbors see.
They would rush out to find the best sale price on a shop vacuum, suck up the muck, call landscapers for fancy imported grass to plant in the sty, then install an alarm system against the farm dog doing what dogs do on fine grass. They would stay awake at nights, anyway, in case the alarm failed. And they would fret over whether the farmer would remember to feed them, and if so, would it be the low-fat kind of slop getting so much attention on all the talk shows.
Pigs just don't know how to enjoy themselves like people do.
The black bear is of such an inferior intellect that he never once charges into 37 malls during the final week of Christmas shopping insanity to find the last remaining Nerf Blaster, drone, Avengers remote control car or any of the 7 quadrillion officially licensed "Star Wars" action whatnots and digital thingamabobs.
This is a tragic loss. The bear would have a natural talent for this type of pleasure. In fact, he probably could persuade other shoppers to give him a hand -- and possibly a foot or whatever else he might wish to snack on.
But no, that stupid ol' bear doesn't bother. He doesn't buy a single gift for any of his cubs. He just sleeps right through the whole happy tidings and makes no apologies for doing so.
How does that reflect the jolly season?
Only the human animal knows true joy. Why? Because we see it, we recognize it and we set out to improve upon it, no matter who we have to elbow out of our way.
Maybe it has something to do with all the blissful Christmas fudge taunting our dieting consciences. Or the wrist cramps and paper cuts on our tongues from sending so many cards of delight and wonderment.
Maybe it's the satisfaction of getting to practice restraint on our own as grownups, without the help of Mom and Dad sniping at us to stop jiggling the presents under the tree.
Whatever the case, cheer sure turns us into tense intelligent critters.
So go ahead, bask in the merriment without me. I'm curling up next to that black bear for the rest of the month. Wake me when all the happiness subsides.
— Ol' Grouchy Cole wishes you a Merry Christmas. Write him at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.