CHRISTMAS SPECIAL: A 'Special' Christmas

I racked up outside my aunt's house in Hendon this morning, sporting a tacky jumper plastered with a picture of an over-zealous Rudolph the Reindeer. My family are Jewish, but somehow we manage to conveniently meet up every year on the 25th of December, weird right? The gang managed to remove our religious guilt this year by ending the meal with the lighting of the Menorah whilst singing 'on the 8 days of Chunukah'.

Christmas is a huge anti-climax, my extended family gather to discuss the big events of their years in a manner which makes me feel very uncomfortable; "Hmm, fascinating, but I truly couldn't give a shit about your son learning the trombone... why doesn't he learn to jump off a bridge instead?". Fortunately, every year I'm labelled 'resident alchoholic' and instead of engaging in any sort of conceited conversation I resign to the end of the table with my bottle of red and a driedal. I quickly fall into a sort of withdrawn glaze, and begin repeatedly humming "simply having a wonderful Christmas time" under my breath like a deranged elf. 

One of the most surreal moments of the afternoon commences immediately after the meal, we decide it would be a good idea to play 'pass-the-parcel'. I must strongly clarify that all may be fair in love and war, but not in pass-the-parcel. The table simmers into quiet chit-chat as the adults pretend as though they care little whether the music stops while the parcel is in their desperate hands... it's all about the children, isn't it? But even they seem to have more decorum than the elder members of the family. My forty year old aunt-in-law passes this abundant package of gifts suspiciously slowly over her steaming coffee as my sister and I glare at her from across the table. You'd think after experiencing over double the amount of festive afternoons she'd have been a bit more giving: I bet Santa isn't pleased at her lack of cooperation. I found myself getting extremely frustrated as the parcel passed from my fingers onto the next player as they were the one to win the sparkly lip balm. 

The most priceless member of my family is my grandpa. He sits in the corner as me and my sister watch him intensely, and here's why: because when the adults discuss the problems with some "pesky immigrants" he will remain silent until he bursts out with a line of a musical. All of a sudden, "my mummy says I'm a miracle" (from Matilda) or "if I were a rich man" (Fiddler On The Roof) or even "the hills are alive with the sound of music" (guess :|), this causes me and my sister to burst into a crescendo of hysterics, til we're ushered out the room by my mother, causing us to get coal for Christmas. 

Christmas messages are an interesting phenomenon within itself. People I haven't spoken to in a year, exactly a year in fact; since the last time they berated me with fake messages of 'cheer', feel it'd be socially acceptable to pop back into my life. This one guy I slept with three years ago wishes me "festive cheer" and my gynecologist is "thinking" of me this Christmas... creepy.

I think it's about time I roll home and make peace with the ghost of the Turkey I just single-handedly devoured. I hope you all received the materialistic bullshit you ordered off Amazon. A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.