A Christmas Confession

[Originally published in the Boston Herald, 2013, but it's still 100% true.]

I am about to make an extremely shocking confession. You should probably be sitting down. It might even be advisable to take a drink of some sort; otherwise, the enormity of the truth I'm about to divulge may send you into immediate cardiac arrest.

Are you ready?

I love fruitcake.

[photo of a Colin Street, Texas, fruitcake - one of the best]

There, I’ve said it. It's not something a lot of people would admit to, but now that it’s out in the open I feel better. I am a man with no secrets. I may have marked myself out for scorn and derision, maybe made myself a pariah, what with the fruitcake bashing that goes on every Christmas season, but I’m willing to take some lumps for my beloved.

I am Humbert Humbert and fruitcake is my Lolita.

Some folks have no use for fruitcakes. They launch them with catapults, use them as doorstops, or perhaps pass one around as a joke gift at the office Christmas party. I, on the other hand, love little pieces of unidentified fluorescent green fruit embedded in cake with an approximate weight equal to lead. Bring it on! Cherries of a red hue unfound in any part or portion of nature? I can’t get enough. Feed me fruitcake from now until Epiphany and I’ll still not be satisfied.

Say what you will about my taste (or lack thereof) but it pains me every time someone makes the blanket assertion that nobody likes receiving fruitcake as a present. My eyes tear up at the very thought of such a kindness being done for me. Saying that no one eats them makes it harder for me to get one and I don’t appreciate that. Many are unwilling to risk embarrassment at the hands of the snarky jokesters who have made "fruitcake" some sort of holiday swear word. Every year, more and more fruitcakes sit forlorn on the shelves of stores, awaiting a nice home for the holidays, while receiving only insults from ignorant and unfeeling passersby. With all due respect, to hell with those jerks. I want my fruitcake!

Due to this rampant fruitcake bigotry, I find myself more and more fruitcake-deprived. I’ve received a few as presents, from brave relatives and friends willing to incur the wrath of hipper-than-thou 20-something clerks at the checkout counter, but these gifts have become fewer and farther between than my insatiable desires demand. I haven’t had to break down and actually buy one myself, but the prospect looms large and I don’t like it.

Are you a fruitcake hater? Take pity! If you have a fruitcake you wish to be rid of, please don't hurl it into space or relegate it to anonymous doorstop duty. Send it to ME. I'd love to give it a nice home (in my belly) and I promise I will not besmirch your reputation by telling anyone you actually once had one in your possession. Here's an address:

Sully’s Home for Wayward Fruitcakes

93 Winsor Avenue

Watertown, MA 02472

No joke – send it! I’ll gladly sacrifice my own health and well-being in order to keep the rest of America fit and trim.

Addendum: MY WIFE raises the possibility that eating fruitcakes received in the mail from strangers may result in my eating a poisoned fruitcake. I contend that the poison has yet to be invented that can take a fruitcake in a fair fight. Nevertheless, to ease her mind, I have promised to only eat those fruitcakes that arrive securely wrapped in their original packaging. The rest I will forward to other deserving parties; perhaps the state legislature. Thank you.

Soon, with more better stuff.