Nasty asked me the other day, what was my best Christmas ever.
I said I don’t have one that I like best.
He then asked, well, what did you do for Christmas last year?
I said I don’t remember.
And it’s true.
What I didn’t tell him
was that I’ve always hated the holiday season, because really, I didn’t want to be Scrooge.
But I’ve always hated it, because I’ve always had these expectations for Christmas, and it had never turned out the way I’ve always envisioned it to be.
To be fair, it’s not a big thing in my family, and through the years, it’s mostly to do with crowded streets, stupid count-downs, and department store shopping.
I’ve always thought of:
A family gathering round. A warm fire place.
A big Christmas tree.
Stockings full of little goodies. Presents under the tree.
Friendly fun family banter.
Lots of smiles and laughter.
And you know what?
I was sitting there with Nasty’s family, next to their Christmas tree,
in front of their fire place,
and opening presents with them.
I never expected to get much presents at all, so it was like an added bonus.
They’ve basically given me what I’ve always thought Christmas should be.
And they’re an absolutely fun and hilarious bunch.
Christmas’ just started,
but from the bottom of my heart,
to the Nasty family:
Thank you for giving me my best Christmas ever.