With just two days to go, we write words inspired by the movie title: Black Christmas.
Yeah, I wouldn't bother clicking that link if I were you. Just... stick with the title and start writing.
Today was a day for arriving family. Kat's dad brought her brother and his family home from the airport just in time for a late lunch, and then my parents pulled into the driveway shortly after dinner (but still in time for dessert).
Now the gang's all here and the oohing and aahing over babies has commenced!
We hated spending Christmas holidays with Aunt Penelope. There could not have been a festive bone in her frail little body!
No lights decorated the outside of her home, no carols ever managed to successfully escape from her stereo. Talk of Santa was strictly forbidden, as were stockings, candy canes, and speculation on the ability of reindeer to fly.
There was no holly, no jolly, no nothin'.
The blackened, shriveled up thing she insisted on calling her Christmas tree looked like it had been pulled out of a forest fire. About two weeks after the blaze had run its course.
Not only was I convinced that this was an accurate assessment, I was also pretty darned sure that Aunt Penelope had started the fire herself.