I am blissfully, suddenly, wonderfully home. I am stuffed with good food, bad coffee (Why mom? why?) and have already spent an unadulterated 3 hours watching Jersey Shore with my sister. (Best line ever? “C’mon. I am a bartender. I do great things”)
After an incredibly insane 18 hour day on Tuesday, I shuffled my fat, swollen happy feet home from the pub. My boss kissed me on the cheek and bought me a tequila that I had to dribble over my shoulder and down my back to keep from the other very small town Christmas tradition of driving under the influence into people’s living rooms. With shoulder blades smelling of a bad date and feet three sizes too big I crawled into bed for 2 hours, and god bless her, got a wake up call from the bar telling me to get up and catch my bus. Only in a small town can you get a wake up call from the bartender still doing her paperwork on the night before Christmas Eve, happy as a clam and drunk as a mussel in vodka.
I slept my way to the airport and stumbled my way onto a flight with a very sweet Newfoundlander intent on discussing (alternately) his sisters recent nuptials, our newly discovered shared love of Freddy Mercury, and his graduate work in neuroscience. Given that I had just discovered by unhappy accident in the washroom that I was sporting aforementioned tequila ridden jeans, I was happy he was talking to me about anything other than the permeating stench of Mexican mouthwash on our tiny flight.
But I am home hombres, I am home. I am about to join the masses in the quest for that last elusive perfect gift, and enjoy my first meal of sushi in months. I’m going to sign off for the holidays, to revel in this feeling with every fiber of my being. Happiest of Holidays, Merriest of Christmases, Holiest of Holies. All my love to each and every one of you. xo