Christmas is supposed to be a happy time. Hah, sure. I just wish I had a real reason to hate it better, like Molly, whose brother died, or Vanessa, who got shot and survived. But no, there's no real reason, just...

I'm not perfect. I'm never the perfect daughter that my mother wants me to be. I can't cook to save my life--once, we actually had to call an ambulance because I'd nearly poisoned our guest. Now my older sister, she can cook. She has bake sales all the time. Naturally, mother will ask her to help in the kitchen 'round Christmas. I get told to stir the custard or peel potatoes.

I keep forgetting things, too. I try to remember, really, I do, but for some reason, remembering to feed the dogs, take out the garbage or sweep the living room is what I always have and always will forget. Now mother, well, she of course, remembers everything. So much that it works on my nerves.  Even my younger siblings seem to be better off in that department.

I despise guests who need to sleep in my room, what with having no guest room in our house and all. It's ridiculous, the way Martin travels almost every weekend to visit. Did he never think, just once, I might like to, you know sleep on a Saturday morning? Come on, who else's mother would make them get up and scramble eggs so he could have his eight-o'clock breakfast? Damn him and his early bird theory. And now he's coming for Christmas.

Yelling, yelling, it's all she does on Christmas day, that even father looks peeved. I wonder, sometimes, how he manages to not yell back. Then again, I wonder why I never yell back...well, at least, not often. Mother yells to watch the children, turn the chips, cut the bread, no, no, don't touch that, and switch that bloody television off! Is it really my fault if it's on? I wasn't even watching!

Christmas shopping, too, is never all that fun. Maybe if you have tonnes of cash to burn, you'd feel more excited, but when half the people on your list are getting cards and hand-crafted items, the work royally blows. Shopping... I never truly enjoyed doing it, and that, perhaps, is all that my father and I have in common. Besides, why is it so important to get  distinctly a different card for each person? None of them are even going to see each other, for crying out loud!

Visiting grandma was fun, 'til she passed on. She was funny, loud, and full of curse words that made mother's hair stand on end. It being father's mum and all, she couldn't very well say much, and for that I was and always will be glad. Seeing all the 45 cousins and step cousins is nice. Tormenting the younger ones by not letting them play pool with us older ones is fun too...

Christmas. Hell, I can't really find a reason to hate it because I still love it. I mean, come on, so what if I get yelled at, and every wrong thing gets blamed on me? I suppose I could just 'pull an Akon' and sing Blame it on Me. That, though, would warrant me unwanted attention. I still mutter under my breath and cuss behind closed doors at mother's need for perfection, but really, I love her, and I know she loves me, flaws, food poisoning, forgetfulness and all. Christmas is when we sing around the Christmas Tree, pull crackers, rip gifts open and scream for joy at those gifts...and I love it. I wish there was a way to convey sentimentality without losing my perpetually pissed off look.