I got my first tree, decorated it the way I always wanted to decorate a Christmas tree, swagged the house with greens within an inch of its life, and bought more presents than I ever have for any holiday, ever.
And lo, it was good.
I even managed to get myself invited over to a friend’s house for dinner, which meant that the only food preparation I needed to concern myself with was the de-foiling of chocolate Santas and the unwrapping of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
I want to tell you all about it, but you know when something is just so much more than the sum of its parts?
So I woke up yesterday morning, opened presents with my husband, and enjoyed our traditional Christmas Day breakfast of dark chocolate and fresh oranges and very strong coffee. Then it was time for a quick little nap, before we hustled ourselves through the shower and made ourselves presentable for dinner across town.
After a dinner that will cause us both to wear elastic waistbands for many days to come, we swung by another friend’s house to feed her cats one last time before she returns home from her holiday travels. These cats not being particularly sociable — or at least, not with us — we headed home shortly thereafter, taking the long way around so that we could take in some of the more delightful displays of lights festooning all of the big, drafty old houses that line good old scenic Route 6A.
Then Matt settled in to watch some basketball games, whilst I retreated to the bedroom to catch up on a little Downton Abbey.
None of it sounds terribly earth shattering, does it?
And yet, it was. Every single little piece.
To go into the hows and whys of the day’s perfection would be to ruin it, and would sound ridiculously mawkish to boot.
You’ll just have to take my word for it, that’s all.
It was the best Christmas. Ever.
Hope yours was, too.