Home for the Holidays

I'll bet you were expecting me to title this post "Homo for the Holidays". How predictable.
Despite the Debbie Downer tone of my last post, I'll say this: Christmas can be happy, mostly because my family, over a lifetime of bad luck, accident and depression, still finds a way to laugh at the most horrible of things. Throughout the rest of the year our laughter is triggered by these events befalling other people, but Christmas is the time when the Powers That Be seem to want to fuck with us most, and we pull together.
Somewhere between our yearly Garbage Plates at Tahou's on Christmas Eve and the inevitable arrival of my Grandmother to shit all over any sense of joy that might be growing in our hearts, we forget our misfortune. We'll curl up around the TV to watch a few festive episodes of Law and Order, my mother will tell a dirty joke, and my sister will awaken on Christmas morning to find Mom's midget Santa doll standing next to her bed, gleefully wielding a knife and a sign that says "Happy Holidays Julie!".
It's Christmas with my family, and, for a few brief hours, all is right with the world.