It's Christmas Eve, and I'm sitting on my sofa, watching The Stepford Wives on Pay Per View and contemplating my first Christmas alone.
My mother called earlier this week, she wanted me to fly out to Omaha and spend the holiday with her. I turned her down. I want to be alone, and have no interest in spending even one minute under my mother's thumb being relentlessly coddled.
Not that being coddled is a bad thing, just nothing I want right now. I'm angry. Mad. Well, part of me is. The other part is thirsty. Maybe I'll get a soda from the fridge.
Anyway, I want to spend this holiday thinking about my mistakes. Figuring out how I'll avoid making them again in the future.
So for now, I'll watch The Stepford Wives while the colorful twinkle of my Christmas tree catches my eye from time to time.
It's a little tree -- 3 or 4 feet, I don't remember. Covered in colorful twinkle lights. Not just plain white lights like EW prefers. No, my tree is covered in reds and blues and greens and golds -- it's happy. Like me.
I know I said I was mad. But that's only part of me. The other part, the thirsty part, is also happy to finally be free to do what I want. And tomorrow, I'll want to sit in my jammies holding a gigungus glass of eggnog.
I've seen Mailbox Hottie a few more times. He's asked me out every time I saw him. I've turned him down every time he asked. Maybe he'll eventually get the hint and leave me alone.
He's a player. I can see that. It's not anything blatant, but I can tell. He's so charming, with that bright smile full of white teeth. And he's entirely too hot. But I'll keep him in mind just in case I have the irresistible urge to get laid.
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