MEEERRRYYYY CHHRISTMAS! I know it's only Christmas Eve, but in the Yellaphant household, Christmas Eve is THE main attraction. Everything else that follows is just Christmas.
For as long as I was alive, and many years before that, Christmas Eve was spent sardined into my grandparents' rowhome with the entire extended family to eat and play and drink and eat and laugh and eat and drink and open presents and eat. And about that eating? We also eat.
Naturally, when I was younger, the best part of Christmas Eve -- besides the eating and drinking and laughter and love -- was the presents. And in my family, every child had gifts lavished upon them by every aunt and uncle. There's a lot of aunts and uncles in my family, and that means a lot of presents. And Santa didn't even slide his fat butt down our chimneys yet. Can you conceive how spoiled we were? It's disgusting, really. I mean gah.
We'd wait in agony as every adult sat around the giant dining room table and ate their dinner in what felt like slow motion. Whining quietly at the table's edge. And just as the dishes were cleared away and you thought you could finally run to the basement and shove your cousins against the wall to claim the best spot beneath the Christmas tree to start tearing that paper to shreds, the dessert came out and more wine was poured.
Five years later, when the last crumbs if the Christmas pies were being picked at, it was finally present time. And boy oh boy those presents. There were piles of toys and stacks of trinkets. Mountains of paper in reds and greens and golds, glistening to the point of ecstasy, just waiting to be eviscerated. Ah, Christmas Eve. It's a beautiful thing.
These days, I show up for the booze, obviously. And, um, the love. Because Christmas Eve is about surrounding yourself with the people you love the most and watching your mom get so drunk she almost falls into the fireplace and waiting nervously to see who's going to piss off who this year because it's just not a family holiday anymore without drunk tension and awkward moments.
This year's goal? To NOT get drunk and cry into my mashed potatoes. I assume I'll be eating a lot of mashed potatoes cause you can bet your ass I won't be eating that pork loin, murderers! And that drunk part probably goes without saying.
So Merry Christmas, everyone! ONE! MORE! TIME!
I just couldn't resist. Who wants Bailey's?