Sunday, December 22, 2019
A Christmas Miracle
So I've forgotten to post for a while, meaning that I will now basically cut straight from Thanksgiving to Christmas, just like a hit NBC sitcom from the '90s. I'll still be less exclusively white, though.
Last night we had our family Christmas before Ian and my sister's family hit the road. It's interesting how the holidays have morphed for me from an occasion where I desperately hope someone will buy me a Generra Hypercolor shirt to a time when I just kind of hope no one gets me anything so I don't feel bad about my own basic inability to reciprocate gestures of affection. But last night was good on that front -- mainly we watched the children open presents in sequence while discouraging them from actually playing with them so that we could get through everything in under six hours. Ian did get me a small present, but I responded in my classic style of retroactively designating a prior gift as his Christmas present. (Viva la Italy.) So as nights go, it was fairly silent and holy.
For actual Christmas, it will probably just be me, my mom, and the two dogs, who may well team up to try to murder us. But here's hoping they don't, as we have lots of television we plan to binge. I mean, three hundred plus episodes of Murder, She Wrote aren't going to watch themselves.
So I've forgotten to post for a while, meaning that I will now basically cut straight from Thanksgiving to Christmas, just like a hit NBC sitcom from the '90s. I'll still be less exclusively white, though.
Last night we had our family Christmas before Ian and my sister's family hit the road. It's interesting how the holidays have morphed for me from an occasion where I desperately hope someone will buy me a Generra Hypercolor shirt to a time when I just kind of hope no one gets me anything so I don't feel bad about my own basic inability to reciprocate gestures of affection. But last night was good on that front -- mainly we watched the children open presents in sequence while discouraging them from actually playing with them so that we could get through everything in under six hours. Ian did get me a small present, but I responded in my classic style of retroactively designating a prior gift as his Christmas present. (Viva la Italy.) So as nights go, it was fairly silent and holy.
For actual Christmas, it will probably just be me, my mom, and the two dogs, who may well team up to try to murder us. But here's hoping they don't, as we have lots of television we plan to binge. I mean, three hundred plus episodes of Murder, She Wrote aren't going to watch themselves.
