I spent the first 20 year of my life trapped in a tiny apartment with a bellicose stepfather whose idees fixes were always broken, and a too-nice mother who wouldn’t or couldn’t tell him off.
So I certainly can’t spare another 90 more minutes being cajoled into agreeing that that situation is somehow hilarious and heartwarming and “Christmas-y.”
I might as well just glue plastic holly around my TV and put on Hostel.
I actually have an adverse physical reaction to A Christmas Story, including rapid heartbeat and shortness of breath (and temper.)
It should come with a warning label: May cause you to WANT to poke your eyes out.
