Sophie Kinsella’s Christmas Confession
My name is Sophie Kinsella and I have a confession to make: I’m addicted to Christmas movies. The cheesier, schmaltzier, more saccharine the better. It’s a secret, shameful addiction that I have to feed when alone, with my remote control at the ready, poised to switch over to something more socially acceptable if anyone walks in.
But when I’m alone – and especially when I’m wrapping presents – I find myself scrolling down the TV Guide with one aim only: Christmas movieland. Fairy lights, pets in Santa outfits, eggnog, singsongs, and happy endings.
It all began early in the season when I was ill for a couple of days. Searching through my flu-haze for something comforting on TV, I stumbled on a delightful confection involving reindeer, Santa, small children, and a snowy town with a great big Christmas heart. This segued straight into another movie – this time an uplifting story about Santa (again), reindeer (again) and a child who Didn’t Believe. (Christmas has no greater sin.)
Since then, I’ve been hooked. I don’t remember any of the films’ names, nor any plot details. The same characters seem to stroll straight from one movie into another: the white-haired twinkly grandfather (Could It Be Him?); the cynical city woman who simply hasn’t learned What Christmas Is All About; the adorable dog; the goofy guy in the handknitted Christmas sweater; the barbershop quartet on the corner; the lisping, huge-eyed, ringleted little girl who just knows the grown-ups won’t let her down this Christmas.
In one film, the main character relives Christmas Day over and over. Watching these films I feel the same way – except that unlike him, I don’t mind. I love it. In my opinion, the world cannot hold enough Santas, sleigh-rides, renditions of O Christmas Tree, and tear-stained reunions under the mistletoe. Now I must run. I’ve just seen they’re showing Santa DOES Love you, Molly, And So Does Daddy, Even Though We’ve Confused Him With His Twin Brother This Christmastide.
Happy Holidays!
