Ah, the holidays. The season of casual hurt arrives with sparkling lights and a cartoon Santa praying to a Baby Jesus crèche in the neighbor’s yard.
What a hypocrite I am. Except for that abovementioned Santa, I enjoy the season. I adore the twinkle lights, even if we can’t be bothered to put them on our house. I like fruitcake. I like all the other Santas, though they don’t make elves like they used to. The holiday itself doesn’t matter to me for obvious reasons, but the trappings are great fun.
Thanksgiving is the tip of the iceberg--- and it’s the one that hit the familial Titanic. Not mine, the only family I have left (on speaking terms, that is) I cherish beyond measure. We don’t celebrate so much as give me an excuse to present a formal menu. We get together often anyhow, and I do like to cook. What bliss that it doesn’t matter what we eat, as long as a few bits reach the dog.
No, I’m thinking about you. You know who you are, and you are legion. As December progresses, let me remind you that yes, people suck. Not YOU! Don’t be silly. My friends are all uniformly wonderful people. And if anyone tries to pressure you or even just says anything uncomplimentary, tell me and I’ll take care of them. I’ve got your back, with jingle bells on.
Ho ho ho.
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