Could be worse. Worst Christmas I ever had involved moving. Actually, I've had two Christmases like that:
Christmas of 2003:
Mom had walked out on dad and me, taking herself, my brother, the dog, and half the house with her 6 months before. Dad and her had made up, and he wanted her to move back in with us, and this was after dad and I had moved to Illinois from Tennessee. So we had to not only celebrate a measly Christmas, I got a nasty cold on Christmas Day, my CD player had burned out, and we had to start packing on the 26th to get her, my brother, and the dog ready to go.
Christmas of 2004:
We moved into a nice, custom-built house in a new neighborhood just days before Christmas, so the house still had boxes everywhere, in addition to whatever Christmas decorations we could scrounge up. I had to do all the wrapping and my back hurt. However, that wasn't the worst of it. We'd gone to visit my aunt and uncle, who lived in the same town, and my grandparents (mom's parents) were visiting.
At the end of the visit, grandpa was crouching down to tie his shoes, when my relatives' beagle ran by and knocked him over, injuring poor grandpa. So mom had to spend all of Christmas Eve in the hospital with grandpa, most of it involving her sitting in the emergency room. So mom wasn't there that night, and it left a big hole in things.
She and grandpa came home the next morning, and while we were opening presents, grandpa had been taking codeine that the doctors had given him for the pain in whatever limb he hurt, and he was in the next room in his bathrobe, barfing into a garbage can while we were unwrapping presents. How nice.
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