Oh boy. My parents spent the morning wrapping presents in secret, as if my two brothers and I (all of us between the ages of 16 and 24) would suddenly cry out at the discovery that it had been them all along, and not Santa. Either way, we all slept till 11AM, and then wandered bleary-eyed through the kitchen with our coffees as Dad darted about, affixing name labels to already-wrapped presents. He explained later — as we all opened gifts that were not intended for us, and then swapped them — that he had forgotten to tag them after wrapping them, and had to try and remember what was in each box as he ran about with the sticky name labels. Needless to say, Dad hasn’t the best memory.

Among other things, I was given some fabulous books and DVDs from my wishlist, as well as some kitchen items, which confirms my suspicion that my mother is attempting to turn me into a housewife. Keeping up with that theme, we discussed weddings — in particular, the idea of mine and what a goddamn pain in the ass it would be to cater, should it ever occur.

“You know, you will have to feed your guests meat,” my mother said, a hint of condescention in her sweet little voice. “If you don’t, they will be disappointed and it will reflect in the gifts you receive.”

Well then, major life beliefs, see ya!

Of course, there’s no wedding planned, and the mere thought of it sends shivers up and down my spine. Nevertheless, I pointed out to my mother that she should not, in the future, bother purchasing for me any of that Spode Christmas Tree dinnerware she’s so fond of. She’s already gotten me started on a collection of ridiculous little Christmas collectible porcelin Snowbaby statue things that I’ve been stacking in my closet for the past 10 years. Our tastes do not align.

We also had the obligatory “What is Christmas?” conversation, in which I argued that Christmas can be and is celebrated not only as a religious holiday, but as an American cultural institution (with or without the crass commercialism — I’ll take mine without, thank you). But there is never any debating with religion. “It’s religious!” “Not necessarily!” soon degenerated into, “Fine, I’ll just come here for Christmas from now till eternity since I won’t ever be celebrating it to the extent that you do.”

My family actually gets along really well, despite how it may seem. At any moment, I’ll head back down for some tofu stuffed shells (they’re having ham and filet mignon) and the pear crumble I made earlier this week. Then, a rousing evening in front of the television, I’m sure. Or, as the wine depletes, some drunken revelry.

Merry Christmas.