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Naomi Hefter Headshot

Roll on Summer

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It's December, the fire is burning, the decorations are out and lists are being made - it's that time of year again. Suicide. Yep, tis the season to be jolly doesn't apply to everyone. Christmas can be a really lonely time for people, including myself. Ok, I'm not suggesting I'm about to buy some rope or twelve bottles of rat poison, but I certainly feel the bitterness of Jack Frost creeping over me. If he were real, I'd definitely be dating him.

I'm at an age now, 21... OK, 25. FINE, 29, where I feel Christmas is a time for kids and couples. The two things that seem to take over Oxford Street as soon as the first cheap chocolate pops out of the first day of the advent calendar. Couples seem to emerge from nowhere, seeping from some love island wearing their smug smiles and matching mittens. Single gals like me try to forget about the clichés of the kiss under the mistletoe and just go and party, suddenly needing the toilet when Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" come's on full blast. All the while, longing for the hot summer nights and festivals to return.

Every year, normal people's tradition is to drink and be merry. Mine is receiving text messages from friends, telling me they are thinking about me while they watch The Grinch that stole Christmas. Not the best compliment I've received, but a true one.

Last night, badly sung carol singers were outside my flat. I was trying to watch Eastenders. Finding out who Kat Slater is having an affair with is much more important to me than giving money to the freezing cold charity collectors. Bar humbug.

On Christmas day itself, I have my own little routine. I sleep in till 11am, open my gifts, give mine to my family which is the size of the Walton's, minus all the family. I eat a rare steak, drink a hazelnut Bailies, and watch the Eastenders Special, at the same time, wishing away Winter.

While you are reading this, you may think I'm nothing more than a bitter and miserable spinster, who's bound to live alone forever until I die a horrible death and have no one will come to my rotten, smelly funeral. But perhaps this is just my way of dealing with being alone for the 4th year in a row now, and that because I enjoy spending money on a loved one who doesn't exist; this is my way of coping.

But I will let you into a little secret, my heart may be two sizes too small like our good friend the Grinch, but - All I want for Christmas is you.