Merry Fughin' Christmas

Christmas comes but once a year and it isn’t for the faint of heart, or the lily livered. I forget the catharsis of Christmas specials until I find myself in the perennial tradition of emptying a bottle of wine between a Christmas Vacation and A Christmas Story. It’s my only respite from the group of cretins I didn’t, as much as my parent’s dating habits, chose for me as relatives. It’s enough to be elbows deep in the Christmas spirits.

I know it’s a statistical misnomer, and perhaps it’s because if I killed myself right now my mother would never let me hear the end of it. Between all the long johns and much appreciated video games, the best present my family ever gave to me was a morbid sense of humour, up for adoption withstanding. It’s an inheritance that’s allowed us to still love each other.

I’ll come down from the cross now, even if we’ve lapsed, Catholics keep the tradition of Christ in Christmas.