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Christmas was a low-key affair for us again that year. Most of our friends were away with
their families so it was up to us to entertain ourselves.
This involved such riveting activities as playing Scrabble by the fire, dining out on fried
seaweed and cellophane noodles, and shivering in line for more than an hour to see a stun-
ningly pointless “holiday release” movie.
For the ritual gift exchange, we actually stuck to our resolution to give each other
presents for the house this year—stuff we were going to have to buy at some point any-
way—decked out in garish holiday paper to provide a quasi-festive spin.
Michael got an electric drill and in my stocking (figuratively speaking) I found two
beach umbrellas and a hurricane lantern.
Made me want to head to the beach.
☼ ☼ ☼
Carol and Jeremy, our first guests at Casa Dos Chivos , were due to arrive the day after
Christmas.
We called Jane that morning to make sure everything was ready.
“Thanks for my Christmas check!” she said. “You really got the hint.”
“We try.”
“I'll bear that in mind next Christmas, not to mention my birthday and all federal holi-
days in between.”
The woman should do stand-up. I put her on speakerphone so Michael could get the full
effect.
“So everything's all set for our guests?”
She laughed.
“You guys are as nervous as virgins on a first date.”
It was my turn to laugh.
“Maybe. Can't remember that far back.”
“He was only twelve,” Michael added. “Remember, he's from Tennessee.”
“Duly noted.”
“So the house looks great?”
“Perfect. They'll be thrilled. I'm picking them up at the airport at three-ten. Everything
will go fine.”
“I believe you.”
“I've done it a million times.”
“Hang on, Jane. Now we're discussing your sex life?” Michael interjected.
I clicked off speakerphone.
“Is he always like that?” Jane asked.
“He hates Christmas. It's an overcompensation thing.”
“Poor you.”
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