Gather round children and listen up for I have a story that will fill you all with the wonder and meaning of the season:

This Christmas holiday Jason and I had just enough time to ourselves to undertake a top to bottom cleaning of our house. This endeavor was instigated by me and once my mind’s made up to do something there’s no unmaking it. While our home was in need of a thorough cleaning, Jason was not quite as enthusiastic about this plan as I was. He especially didn’t appreciate my two-day scrubbing extravaganza coming dangerously close to impeding his Christmas fun. I didn’t finish furiously dusting until 11:32 PM on Christmas Eve, compelling him to frequently remind me of the time limitations on my tidying allowance. The next day, however, Jason changed his tune and decided he was rather glad we had cleaned. He enjoyed having a sparkly home somewhere underneath the layers of wrapping paper.

Cooking was to our Christmas as cleaning was to our Christmas Eve. We made puffy cheddar grits for breakfast and a fancy dinner of wild mushroom risotto topped with citrus-seasoned arugula and toasted hazelnuts. Sugar was definitely invited to the party as well; we baked both chocolate cupcakes and jelly-filled cookies. Although our Christmas was not quite its usual hectic mess, Jason was still tired and had had enough of culinary creativeness about the time I started forming the cookies and therefore protested their construction. I’m not sure why he thought he had the right to gripe since he wasn’t exactly helping me prepare them, more like complaining on the sidelines as I rolled, but for some reason he seemed to find standing around doing nothing too taxing to tolerate. Of course, me being me, I was unmoved by his grumblings and I just baked away anyway. The next day, as he was gobbling up those buttery treats, he admitted that he was very happy I had persevered and basted through his grumpies.

Hmmm…I’m no psychology expert but there seems to be some reoccurring behavior patterns emerging here.

The morals of this story? The first obviously is that wives can be a tremendous pain in the neck. Forcing spousal participation in a cleaning marathon or cooking fest is practically dehumanizing. Having to tidy your own home or cook for yourself: these tortures no man should ever have to bear. The second message is clearly that your wife knows best so shut up and do what she tells you. I guarantee that you will be glad you did later either because you’ll discover that the fruits of your labor are indeed sweet or because you’ll realize that the only alternative to doing as she asks is listening to her never-ending whining.

And the final moral of this story? Don’t take me too seriously. My fine tale may seem to suggest the contrary but Jason and I had a fantastic Christmas. I wandered around in my pajamas until sometime in the afternoon. We ate and ate and ate all that scrumptious homemade food and we actually got to open each other’s presents before the sun descended. Sure, Jason did complain a bit here and there, for which he was relentlessly teased, but that just added to the seasonal merriment. I especially enjoyed making fun of my hubby while his face was covered with the crumbs of the cookies he was too pooped to watch me make. Good thing he likes to laugh at himself as much as I do.

I hope your holidays were just as full of jovial taunting as they were for me and my spouse. Merry Christmas to all and to all a clean house!

What says Christmas better than a hideous moustache and a sweater even your mom wouldn’t be caught dead in? The answer perhaps is a Sabin fest that incorporates not only both of these foul abominations but also some seasonal classics, white elephant gifts and overeating, along with a couple nontraditional holiday pastimes, ping pong and wallyball. The result of this unusual combination? A party of such repugnant, yet satisfying, proportions that a word more disgusting than disgusting would have to be added to the dictionary to adequately portray its disgustingness.

Although last year’s moustache and unsightly sweater party was a cringe fest, our friends, it turns out, liked that repulsive theme so this year we brought tacky back like a barfing kid on a merry-go-round.

For this event Jason and I rented a suite of rooms at Noah’s that included a wallyball court, ping pong arena, and chow station. We, along with our collected friends, played ping pong until we were dizzy and then wallyball until our forearms burned. If we ever began feeling even slightly exercised we recommenced eating so our belt straps were the only things overly exerted. And once we had consumed our weight in cookies and grown tired of tossing balls we fought over the prettiest awful white elephant gifts ever.

Maybe baby Jesus didn’t anticipate ugly attire and gluttony heralding in the arrival of his birthday every year but hey, what a birthday party! Here’s to the nauseating traditions that make Christmas so dang memorable!