Romantic Christmas

Once upon a time someone asked me how they celebrate Christmas in Japan.  I kinda cocked my head.  If anime and manga are to be trusted, it’s a date night where you cuddle with your honey and eat cake.  Maybe you’ll look at the Christmas lights in the shopping district and have a secret wish that it will snow.

Well, here in Canada – no worries – it will snow.  And it’s not a date night.  It’s all about the children and it’s all about the parents and that weird old man looking for your chimney.  However, even with that mystique about the holiday – I have long since considered it the most romantic day of the year. 

Here’s the thing.  By eleven-thirty on Christmas Eve, I have just worked my tail off like I have never worked my tail off before.  Chances are I was hosting some event at my house with meat and cheese and cocktail sauce.  Even if I haven’t invited a lot of people, there are plates of cookies and chocolates and a million other yummies that represent a good deal of back-breaking labour.  Then there’s also the hassle of wrapping last minute gifts, stuffing stockings and cleaning up after the celebration, so that my kitchen won’t be a frightful mess when I prepare not one, but two, large meals the next day.  By eleven-thirty, I’m sacked out on the couch with a glass of icy egg nog in my hand.  My head is cradled by the shoulder of my beloved husband and the lights from the tree are reflecting in my hazy eyes.  He leans over and whispers, “Merry Christmas.”  I glance at the clock and realize he’s right.  It’s past midnight.  Then he slides a tiny velvet box in my lap and I’m completely charmed.

One would think I’d have that induced high on Valentine’s Day, but I really don’t.  When Valentine’s Day rolls around, I’m all partied out.  All the classy restaurants are full and the entryways are overflowing with people waiting for a table.  I don’t have twinkly lights set up in my house.  There’s no weeklong vacation and I don’t make goodies.  Finding a babysitter is rough because they’re all taken.  AND by that time of year, I’m serious – I’m all partied out.  January is my month for partying and I usually have at least four parties that month.  For Valentine’s Day, I usually just end up asking my honey to buy me a hamburger the size of my head and call it quits.  Burger joints aren’t full on Valentine’s Day … that’s an insider tip.

But Christmas – that’s a magical time of year.  Seriously, even if there isn’t any sparkly thing in a velvet box.  Last year my husband bought me a rug shampooer.  I haven’t been able to get him to stop using it.  Now that’s the gift that keeps on giving.