Christmas Undone

And then it was Christmas. 

Christmas Eve went by in a whirl of home repair and rushing about to buy the last minute things.  The day started early and was gone in a seeming moment.  And then, late in the afternoon, I left the repairman at my house and went to meet the usual gang of misfits on the Boulevard for the traditional Christmas Eve drinks.  We sat bar-side at sidewalk tables in the muggy, unseasonable air, and surprisingly, the Boulevard was packed. 

When I walked up, I yelled for all the crowd to hear, "Jesus Christ, I'm surprised I could find you.  You look like all the other tables of old people.  Who can tell the difference?"  In turn, they made fun of my new hair.  I looked at the fellow next to me. 

"Well, I must say. . .  your hair looks perfectly natural.  How's that working out for you?"  With this group, the best and most effective attack is upon the man's ability to attract a woman.  "When was the last time you had a date?"

A pretty woman walked by and the conversation at the table stopped as everyone turned their heads.  There was an unheard collective moan. 

"C'mon man, you're slick.  What's your best introduction?"

"'Hello, I'm Mark.  How do you like me so far?'"

"What if she says, 'Not so much?'"

"That's just her first offer.  There may be room for negotiation." 

And so on. 

I had sent a text before I came.  While I sat there, I got one back. 

"Who's that?" my buddy asked. 

"I don't know." 

"Do you need some Xanax?" asked one of the other guys.  We have a tradition that started many, many years ago, of passing out the drug to whomever is loveless for the holidays.  There is always somebody who has recently broken up or has gotten divorced and who is lovelorn for Christmas.  It has become one of the most important talking points at the table.  Everyone takes a shot at making the person feel better by saying everything that will make him feel horrible, suggesting the most vile and unthinkable things.  One guy has had the title three years running.  His wife left him and he still has not dated and is all moondog over the thing.  His wife was way too beautiful for him in the first place.  He was always nervous and about to piss himself when she was around.  She was always bitchy mean.  That was their relationship.  He may never get over it. 

I sent back a Perfect Martini that was brown.  Obviously the bartender had no idea what he was doing. 

"This place sucks," I said.  "The bartender is a twelve year old with a fucking mullet.  The food is awful.  The place across the street has great food and the bartender knows how to make a cocktail." 

Everyone agreed, and in minutes we had migrated to the better place.  In doing so, we lost half the crowd.  It was getting dark and people had places to be.  I was going to open gifts with my mother, but I got some other messages and before I realized it, I had ordered a big plate of scallops over sushi rice.  More drinking.  The night wore on. 

Dinner finished, three of the fellows were up for drinks at another bar down the street.  I had made arrangements. 

"See you boys.  Merry Christmas."

"You, too." 

Etc. 

My mother and I had decided on a very minimal present exchange.  Nothing, really.  I had gotten a light fixture replaced by my repairman in the morning.  I had a new printer for her in the car.  But she did not live up to the deal.  When I walked in, there was a pile of presents in the living room. 

"What did you do?  I thought we said. . . shit. . . . "

"Don't worry about it.  I couldn't help it." 

And so we opened gifts.  Fortunately, I had stopped at a beautiful organic potions and lotions store and bought her a few things.  Still, I was on the wrong side of the deal. 

It had been dark for a long time when I left, but it was still early.  I had gotten through the holiday without needing to accede to its demands.  I had learned to manage my season. 

Oh. . . the texting thing.  I had made arrangements to meet someone at the house.  I had two bottles of champagne in the fridge that wanted to be drunk.  It was sort of elegance in house slippers, really, the jazz playing, we in sweats drinking from fluted crystal glasses.  Up late, little sleep. . . up early.  My friend had to leave town before the sun came up. 

Christmas.  I think I'll go back to bed. 

And so, as always. . . my favorite Christmas song.  Happiness to you, my peeps.