I was just gone for like a week. I didn’t tell you, dear blog readers, because while I’m sure the majority of you are nice, super-sweet kiddos who just want to read a bunch of book reviews, some of you may, in fact, be burglars, and as discussed in a previous post, I prefer to be neither robbed nor “robbed.” That said, I learned some valuable lessons while I spent several days lounging in the warm, early summer sun at my parents’ lake cabin.
I love Christmas, and a big part of getting into the holiday spirit for me involves watching Christmas movies. But, as mentioned a few days ago, not just any Christmas movie will do. Just because it has “Christmas” in the title, doesn’t mean I want to see it. Additionally, some “best of” lists include movies set during the holidays that decidedly don’t give a person that festive feeling, e.g. Gremlins, Die Hard, etc. This is nonsense. To make my list, a movie doesn’t even have to be about the holidays; but if it’s entertaining and says Christmas to me, I make it a part of my annual to-watch list.
So, something you may not know about me is that I nicknamed my husband Fat. It’s not meant to be mean. In fact, I think I started calling him Fatty when we first started dating 100 years ago when he was a svelte hockey player. Anyway, so “Fatty” became “Fat” became incorporating the word “fat” into regular conversation, e.g. “Fat’s getting on my nerves. I want to repaint the kitchen, but he’s being so fat about it.” The best analogy I can think of is the way the Smurfs substitute in the word “smurf” all the time. Hence, “Happy Fatsgiving!”