It was a very different Christmas this year, which started on Christmas Eve. Boyfriend traditionally spends the night at his sister and brother-in-law's house - since I really enjoy them both, I was like, "me too?" and I was permitted access. It was that evening I realized there is no one on this planet who loves decorating for this holiday more than boyfriend's sister. Every inch of her abode was festooned and swagged and stuffed to brimming with cheerful lights and decor. It was amazing. I was fatigued just looking at it.
I was even more exhausted the next day, due to forgetting to beg boyfriend before he fell asleep to turn off a few hundred lights, because attempting sleep on her very comfy couch was like attempting sleep on the very sun. I was myself afraid to touch a thing, lest my penchant for lacking grace should topple everything into a desperate mess.
Christmas day itself was fairly typical, except for homes requiring air conditioning in the ding dang winter. Presents, naps, beer for breakfast - one might call it a day like any other, except with Christmas cookies.
My mom was working on Christmas, so we all had to wait until the following Monday to celebrate with her and my stepdad when she finally had a day off. We went out for some shitty Mexican food, had a few drinks, then re-assembled back at my sister's house to open gifts.
Among other treats, I got underwear. Good news is, I want underwear.
After arriving back at boyfriend's, we sat outside for a bit, when he suddenly fell prey to a concomitant case of phlegm and pernicious hiccups. I took one look at his face and implored him to face away from me immediately, and boy, am I smart, because his dinner found its way out of his body and down the porch steps.
We decided it was time to retire to bed, which was fine by me, since I felt a rainy-day headache looming hard. He got slipped into the bed first, where I heard him exclaim curses with a measure of bemused distress. I walked over to discover not one, but two liberal wet spots and more cat shit than I care to recall in detail. By the time we made it into a clean bed, cats kicked the hell out of the room for the night with as stern a glare I could manage, and I took my requisite "just laid down for a few, now it's time to pee of course" trip to the bathroom, I returned to bed to discover I had a full-on, head-threatening-to-explode migraine. I also found myself without a belly full of Mexican food, or any fluids I tried desperately to retain, by the time I mercifully fell asleep in the gloomy twilight.
The lesson here is try new traditions on Christmas, definitely, but not the ones that leave you barfing and cats shitting all over your stuff.