I GUESS I would be offending many Christians if I questioned why there is all this fuss around Christmas.
Anyone with two brain cells will tell you that there is very little spiritual and Christian in the way we mark the day. On the contrary, it is an opportunity for the smart among us to make a quick buck.
But who cares?
Every opportunity to make whoopee must be welcomed without being finicky.
It is also an opportunity to spread cheer and goodwill to all people.
Believe it when they tell you that cheerfulness is contagious.
In the men's toilets at OR Tambo airport there is a cleaner who probably makes more out of tips than he does out of his salary, all because he engages his "customers" with a cheerful: "Good morning Sir. Welcome to my office (toilet)."
He then goes through a drill - cleaning the seat and rolling out the toilet paper - before shutting the door. Granted, there are grumpies who just want to be left alone to do the deed and get the hell out of there. I think I am one of them.
But the vast majority of "customers" savour the attention and dig deep into their pockets for some hefty tip.
In years gone by, this would be the season when men dressed up as women - wigs, dresses, high heeled shoes, lipstick, the lot - and pranced around the neighbourhood chanting "Happyyy!" Generally making buffoons of themselves.
The less remembered about the home-brewed concoctions drunk the better.
And the fairy tales ... good Lord, they were 10-a-penny.
Lest I spoil it for millions of little children, I shall not say a word about my favourite person back then, good old Father Christmas who to this day has not delivered the bicycle I asked for over many years.
For a good altar boy who did not swear, went to church, shared my toys and fed the dogs every day, the betrayal was inexplicable and quite hurtful.
Maybe the bike did not come because one Christmas morning when I woke up to find he had not delivered again I muttered under my breath, tears welling in my eyes: "Ag, voetsek."
But then I seem to remember apologising.
Many things that ought to have happened did not happen on Christmas day.
For example, we were told the sun danced every morning on the day. So each year, without failure, we would wake up in the morning, check what Father Christmas had delivered overnight and then go out to stare at the sun.
We would stare and stare until our little eyes watered. After looking at the damn thing for quite long, you seem to think you saw it move up and down.
Quite silly, but if you are ever going to be silly, this is the season.