A Finny Holiday

The holidays take on a special twist at our place. Special like alternative and slightly bizarre, not special like frilly antique ornaments and Christmas carols around the fire. In fact, we're so devoid of holiday-ness at our house that the non-denominational but festive nonetheless wreath on the front door seems like it might have been put up on the wrong house.

Until last week.

Every year this happens. I submerge myself in blatant denial of holiday festiveness from the first moment I see plaid bows going up in stores until the last few days before Christmas. Then, out of nowhere, I suddenly feel this unyielding desire to become the merry being that I've been almost running down in the Target parking lot for the previous two months.

I think it's all the sugar.

Anyway, holiday cheer sprung forth this year in the form of a lot of baking.

For friends and coworkers:

For neighbors:

But, really, what could possibly contain enough sugar to sweeten this maniacally Scroogey soul? Something so fantastically indulgent and so unforgivably extravagant that it could only come from the most magnificent point on the globe: Rome, Italy.

Oh yes. Behold the greatness of it's very existence. The 3Kg (6.61 lbs) Holiday Bathtub of Nutella. Straight from Rome by way of Washington carried carefully and lovingly by one of my dearest friends.

Please note how it towers above the wee tape dispenser. Remark upon the golden sheen of it's lid. Observe the festive gift box inside which it is carefully stowed for gift giving.

I ask you, how could one not inflate suddenly with holiday cheer upon receipt of such an overwhelming holiday bounty?

One must.

And so here I sit - ass on couch, in front of the warm fire, listening to the lewd Cialis commercial playing between quarters of the Pats game, feeling extra merry because I'm full of foreign sugar and free to stare at Bubba's face for a whole week while we're off for the holidays.

Suddenly, I don't hate the holidays so much. And I'm grateful for my big spoon.