On Christmas alone

I’ve decided to come out as an orphan – and what better time than Christmas?

I don’t have offspring, and I’m a widow. My parents died in the 1990s. But the pandemic makes this year different.

It’s the first year I’ll have Christmas alone.

In the past, somebody’s always invited me for Christmas dinner. My role is to be entertaining. I have gossip about Jane Austen’s hair. I know what Attila the Hun ate for lunch.

I’ve learned to be a good guest, with civilized table manners and praise for all the food. I keep quiet about politics. I look alive and cheer at the right time during football games.

But this year I don’t have to root for anyone’s team. I don’t have to step up to the plate.

If I want to, I can have a Zoom hop and invite people to show me their trees. I’ll show them my fruitcake, again.

I’ll wear mismatched old clothes – and if I spill anything, I won’t have to scrub someone else’s floor.

When you’re an orphan, you’re always home for Christmas.