Thus far, my break has been full of good times with friends and family, although the last two days I’ve spent mostly moping around the house, thanks to a lovely virus my father bequeathed to me. No, he’s not dead, I just like the sound of the word bequeath, and maybe I like sounding like I know/ use big words. Hm. I’m supposed to lector tomorrow night; that will require lots of Claritin and cough drops, but shouldn’t be too difficult.
Also, I’ve given up on my Grand Christmas Day Dinner* because: 1) I’m sick 2) My family doesn’t really want it anyway, but would have put up with it if I’d done it 3) No one can agree on what meat they want 4) We’re so pitiful that my boyfriend’s mom, who has her own family plus four staying-at-their-house relatives to cook for, offered to help me. Good grief, I said. We’re doing sandwiches, and maybe Mom will make lasagne. I want to go to Waffle House, personally. They’re open on Christmas, you know. My mother’s laid-back attitude about whether this Christmas is at all traditional has infected me. I don’t care that much. As long as Mark, the resident little kid, is happy, life is good.
*I’m pretty sure I mentioned it in a post around Thanksgiving time, but my parents are working through Christmas, being the good doctors that they are. To be fair, they haven’t had to do this since I think when I was nine or so. I got into my head that the appropriate counter-measure to save Christmas would be me making a huge homemade meal.
A final bit of holiday cheer: my father and little brother have been gone for hours in the van (not my dad’s little sedan). This makes my mother and I think that they might be purchasing a small elephant in some far-off country, because really, the two don’t do well together for very long, and Dad refused to tell Mom where he was going. Or maybe they just went to Hooters.