When my friend Jennifer hears the phrase “the holidays,” she cringes in the same way a dog might when hearing the words “going to the vet”.
She thinks of the holidays the same way she views a mammogram. A procedure that takes way too long, never feels good, and must be completed annually.
For most of my life I detested the holidays. Not because it was tough to decide on a present for my father’s third wife’s eldest son, but because I hated listening to the incessant complaints of Great Aunt Eudora. Uncle Fred’s farts were almost as bad, but…
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