I love Christmas, I really do. Nothing beats it except, perhaps, the day that follows it.
I love Boxing Day, I really do.
I loll around in the PJs, pretty much all day. I pad about in my slippers in search of candy canes and boxes of chocolate. I try on my new sweaters, scarves and blouses. And then I take a nap.
The major work is over, and I'll have earned a lazy card.
"Do you want to do anything today?" the husband sometime asks.
"Not if it means I have to put on socks and shoes," I will say.
Activity if you can call it that amounts to the making of a turkey sandwich, slathered with mayo and piled high with stuffing and cranberry sauce. If we're feeling particularly energetic, we might place a pickle on the side.
If there's a trip to the store to be made perhaps to exchange a jacket it will have to wait. We will have better things to do.
"Do you want an eggnog?" the husband will ask, often before noon. "Absolutely," I'll say. "Do you want rum in it?" he'll inquire. "Absolutely," I'll say. This, of course, is the way it is with the most slothful day of the year. You do things you'd likely never do on March 23rd or April 7th.
We deserve this, after all. Goodness knows most of us have been up to our eyeballs these past few weeks, cooking, shopping, wrapping and decorating. We've all earned the right to lie around for an entire day doing absolutely nothing constructive.
So, yes, while the fourday countdown to Christmas is on, the fiveday countdown is too.
