Many of you (okay, one or two of you, because that's the maximum number reading this blog) are probably waiting for a holiday post, one which records the amusing peccadilloes of various family members, possibly including strong drink and/or violence.
You're kidding, right?
Obviously, none of you who are not my family know my family if you think I'd include their holiday misadventures on my blog. I mean, one of the sweetest--and clearly the most attractive--members of my family, my cousin Bekah, has spent half of this fall dismembering animals. No, I don't mean she's taking an anatomy class. I mean that she, along with my uncle, has been taking apart the corpses of Bambi and his relatives who were victims of vehicular homicide. Do you understand what this means?
You all may have relatives who give you the cold shoulder or gossip in church, but my relatives know how to use knives. I mean, is there all that much difference between cutting up a deer or a pheasant and doing the same to a smartass cousin who embarrasses you on-line? Not enough for me to risk it, that's for darned sure. And that uncle I mentioned? He's like eight feet tall and could crush my windpipe with his pinky finger. Even my sister, who doesn't look that intimidating at first glance, teaches something called bikram yoga, which means that not only can she balance her entire body on her elbow, but she can do it at 500 degrees fahrenheit.
My only weapons are the evil teacher glare and a set of worn ironic bon mots. You understand where I'm going with this, right?
When you think of me this Christmas, I want you to envision my amazing and lovely family through the gauzy vision of an old film starring a bunch of wholesomer-than-wholesome stars: my aunts, who fall into one another's arms whenever they meet and who only argue because each wants to be the one to do the dishes and let the other relax during the holidays; my cousin (not the knife-wielding one) with her five perfectly behaved children, each eager to hold open doors for their elders and sing a sweet Christmas carol that moves even the hardest of hearts; my loving sister and her family who gift everyone with handmade ornaments woven from their own hair; my uncle, who dresses up as Santa and jovially bounces the newest baby on his knee while nudging the yule log; and my lovely mother who knits car covers from dried kudzu vines while stirring the egg nog.
Currier and Ives would be pwned by my kinfolk, and the Hallmark channel could find five, maybe six, new films just by gazing through the delicately frosted windows looking in on our yuletide celebrations. I mean, we're talking Duggar levels of peace and harmony and goodwill toward all the species.
As for the rest of you, just remember: you can put whiskey or rum in the eggnog, but not both.