We all have our own steadfast traditions for Christmastime. Some people bake cookies; some create intricate Christmas cards. Our family cultivates virulent viruses. And we share them with a vengeance. Every. Single. Year.
Forget romantic snowy vistas, for me the term “White Christmas” conjures up the color of our faces just before we toss our (sugar) cookies into the nearest bin/ bag/ toilet/ park.
And as I sit here completely enfeebled on the couch I’m not sure which is worse: the Ghost of Sickness Past or the Ghost of Sicknesses Yet to Come. Because it’s only a matter of time before Jacob Marley rattles his chains and the next family member takes his turn as the newest WC accessory…
It’s kind of suspenseful to see who will fall prey to the Holiday Ebola next—perhaps we should set up a pool. It would be nice to be able to earn some extra cash to spend at the sales.
If you’re reading this right now that means that you’ve been fortunate enough to dodge us and our contagious holiday greetings. Hope you’re healthy and happy and ready to ring in the new year!
*The quote for the title comes from Clement C. Moore's "Twas the night before Christmas" and the double entendre used to crack me up as a kid. It hits a little too close to home these days...
...When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash...