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The Festivities

The Christmas Holidays are always a joyous and wondrous time, but also a huge sociological experiment for all to appreciate.

Take, for example, the traditional Christmas dinner.

Every family has a routine to their dinner, and mine is no different. People start to complain about the temperature of the room, where it shifts from being Antarctically cold to Equatorially hot; the music is invariably too loud when one can hear the distinct words being sung; and one always has to state, "how are we going to eat this much food?"

We'll eat it because we're pigs, people. It's what we do at Christmas. Gorge ourselves.

This year, I decided to whine, piss and/or moan over the fact that our gathering took place not in a home, but instead, in my parents bar. We ate, made jokes, and nobody -- nobody -- agreed with me.

I think that my family merely disagrees with me on the principle that it's me. I could tell them that a stop sign requires that you cease driving, and they would somehow turn that into me being a selfish individual. Still, I love them.

Who would get me cologne, otherwise?