Visions of Sugar Plums

Don't these look delicious and not at all like withered, old man balls.

Every year on Christmas Eve, my grandmother comes over for a noisy, spirited, cheer-filled dinner.  Afterward, she insists that we attempt to sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" and recite 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.  From memory.  I guess Grandma likes to feel like she isn't the only one wandering dizzily down Losing Memory Lane.

Side note: She also really likes "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer," which is possibly the worst, most teeth-grindingly obnoxious holiday song ever recorded.  Even worse than "Feliz Navidad."  I'm pretty sure those two songs were originally released on the devil's Christmas EP, Satan Sings! for the Season.

"You bet your ass you're gettin' coal.  Feliz navidad to you too, bitch."

Anyway, you'd think we'd be able to remember the words after struggling through that poem all these years, but we always get tripped up somewhere around the eagles on coursers dashing away.  After arguing for half an hour about the pronunciation of roof and whether the new-fallen snow really has a breast, someone inevitably ducks out to consult the internet and put us all out of our misery.  Two years ago we were in the midst of moving cross-country, and since our computers were all boxed up, we had friends and boyfriends texting us the lines we couldn't remember.

This year I'm prepared, though.  I spent forty-five minutes earlier today copying out the verses all down my forearm.  As long as nothing smudges my arm and nobody asks me to wash dishes, we'll be set.

But if that fails, I'm spiking the eggnog.  I'll make sure that Christmas Eve will be merry and bright.

May your Christmas be as charming and warm as this picture of domestic, holiday bliss:

Every ten years we sacrifice the youngest child to the Christmas spirits.
That's why Santa didn't bring you any presents, little Susie.

Image via In the Raw, The Sacramento BeeWikipedia.

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