Well Lit, December 24th

Although I powered through my college years with beer by the pitcher (Rolling Rock), quarter-filled red solo cups of grain alcohol punch, and potently frozen drinks from Fat Tuesday’s that I never managed to finish without getting a major brain freeze (half pina colada and half strawberry daiquiri), these days I’m really not a big drinker at all. I know so many people, especially working Moms, look forward to that first glass of wine after a long day. But that’s nothing compared to absolutely positively needing a cocktail to get through a holiday meal with your family. I have a friend who takes this ritual very very seriously. Let’s call him B.

B has to pre-game before he steps even one foot inside the hosting holiday house of his younger sibling. His sister is notorious for going bananas decorating every square inch of her already cluttered abode. If you drive by her front lawn the day after Thanksgiving, you’ll see Frosty, Rudolph, at least three or four Santas, penguins, a slew of elves, rows and rows of lights, and a ginormous wreath on her front door laced with popcorn and tinsel that she makes famously from scratch every year. It’s like the intersection of The North Pole and What On Earth Were You Thinkin’ There, Sis? And B can’t wait to get in and get out of Christmas dinner. But that never happens, much to his dismay.

Cousins come and everybody brings their kids, of course. His Mom is in the kitchen most of the day setting up appetizers and chopping parsley and rearranging the ham and checking on the lasagna every 10 minutes, while his Dad is parked in front of the television camping out with cheese, prosciutto, and a frosty mug of beer. B’s kids run around the backyard like lunatics with their same aged cousins, refuse to wear jackets and eventually someone gets hurt on the swing set, falls, or ends up with a cut finger or twisted ankle from the trampoline. His wife, let’s call her J, holds it all together as the designated driver and prevailing parent while B staves off a potential meltdown with another drink and another until he’s totally lit and promises J a spa weekend or a sparkly trinket to show his appreciation for her taking the reins while he hides amongst the blow-up reindeer on the front porch debating if it’s too risky to smoke a bowl. Not being much of a drinker myself, I can only hope that the fourth glass of holiday cheer numbs dear B into a passive “let’s just get through this day” mood.

As a member of The Tribe, my people opt into movies and Chinese food and honor our rich Jewish heritage with celebratory scallion pancakes, egg rolls, moo shoo chicken, beef and broccoli, too much lo-mein, and traditional ten ingredient fried rice… hold the pork! Our biggest holiday nightmare is take-out taking extra-long as all the neighborhood Jews are on the same unofficial program of flick followed by chow at roughly the same time.

However you choose to spend this holiday, I hope it’s filled with good cheer, love, and some tasty snacks that represent your heritage and traditions.

And for B, well I hope he remains on Santa’s nice list and doesn’t get too wasted and accidentally take down the well-lit Christmas tree with an impromptu wrestling match at the kind invitation of Uncle Frank the gym teacher who likes to show off his moves. Pissing off his sister, horrifying his mom, and embarrassing his kids would do him no good. And his already aggravated sore left rotator cuff might agree. But it’s the holidays, so we can only hope for the best! Just a tip… but try not to be a B today!