Sausage roll stomach and marzipan hands mixed with sherry breath and dirty aprons.
Scraps of Scotch tape in the strangest places as the dog eats the holly wrapping paper.
Last minute greeting cards from people you’ve forgotten causing a twinge of guilt, then resentment at the position they’ve put you in. Then there’s the new neighbor who just moved in and refuses to make eye contact; you want to leave a poinsettia on her doorstep, but what if she proves to be the bitch that her lack of eye contact suggests and you end up resenting your kind gesture for years to come. The night finally done, body wrecked, brain fried and as your head hits the pillow, you realize, shit, maybe there’s the off chance that my daughter still thinks there’s a Santa and instead of closing your eyes, you realize, the night has just begun.
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As always, you're willing to write about the dark (and totally honest) side. That first sentence is absolutely a winner. And all the non-joyous feelings engendered by last minute cards and bitchy neighbors is just perfect. A wonderful antidote to all those visions of sugar plums!
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