It's like the forty-leventh day of cold rain. The dogs are always wet. My boots are always wet. The sun has been setting about 20 minutes after what passes for dawn. And the heating bills are shocking. As expected.
But last night was all candles, food, champagne, Christmas music, wine, lights, beer, funny presents, cookies and good friends. At least the ones not coughing, sniffing or puking (the norovirus is back! and just in time for Christmas!).
We made Becca & Brian regale us with stories of their Grand Adventures. Tessa fulfilled her obligations as Token Child adorably. The dogs refrained from eating the cookies (with a few well-timed reminders). We are now the proud new owners of a Halloween pumpkin the size of a Volkswagen Beetle and two pieces of millinery confectionery worthy of Jackie Kennedy's cousin Erma. And we managed to make it through the majority of the vat of jambalaya I prepared (it turns out that, despite the laws of physics, if you double a batch of jambalaya that serves 6, you get an amount of jambalaya that could easily serve every member of the US House of Representatives, including William Jefferson, who wraps his and freezes it for later).
My headache is fading and the Seahawks game is on. And I have three pieces of fudge left. Later.
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