All in all it was a very good Christmas. Just before it began, my coffee connection came through with a five pound bag (yes, a FIVE POUND bag!) of some of the good stuff. You can never have too much coffee. Especially when it's free.
And you can never have too much good Scotch. My wife came through on this front. I was delighted to find a bottle of double-matured Talisker Distillers Edition waiting under the tree on Christmas morn. Forget the old adage ladies. The truly best way to a man's heart is through his liver. Seriously, it's hard to go wrong with the gift of quality booze.
My mom continued her own special Christmas tradition when, a couple of fortnights ago, she asked me what was on my wish list. A gift card to Best Buy would be welcome, I offered. So I got a sweater from Macy's. At least it was the right size. Not so many years back, she made a point of asking what size I wore in advance and then getting me clothing items whose proportions bore no resemblance to what I said. Mother knows best, right?
The highlight of the holiday of course was Mass on Christmas Eve. The choir kicked things off fifteen minutes before the service began with a rousing batch of carols. The church was immaculately decorated and the overflowing crowd was decked out in their holiday best. Everything was perfect. It was almost like a scene from a Christmas movie.
And then, as the long lines of revelers had just about all made their way through the communion lines, my wife gently nudged me and directed my attention to the Christmas abomination strutting down the aisle. A slack-jawed juvenile wearing vinyl red sweatpants and a...
...a green Brett Favre Packers home jersey. On Christmas Eve, of all the days of the year, you would think this punk could put on something appropriate for church. But no, he HAD to wear his Packers laundry. I'm not sure what was worse, this clueless kid or his parents who allowed him to represent his team on Christmas.
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