Tim Pratt
SF and Fantasy Writer

Happy Happy

YAWN. Happy Christmas. The boy got up around 7 a.m., and found a pile of gifts to dazzle him. We’re not doing present-opening and so forth until my sister-in-law, nephew, and mother-in-law get here later this morning, but we let River open a couple of things from Santa to appease him. He’s been waiting a looooong time for Christmas — this is the first year he really understood the holiday in a way that allowed for anticipation — and he’s pretty much a squealing mass of pure delight.

My turkey is trussed and awaiting the kiss of flame in the oven; potatoes are chopped and wait only to be boiled and mashed and made creamy; and cranberry relish and gravy can wait. That’s all my culinary responsibility for the day… apart from the massive artery-clogging breakfast of sausage, eggs, and cheese I’m about to compose. A world of yum.

Happy day to all, whether you celebrate something or not.

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