Rebel Yule

It was nine thirty last night when I left the Argus and stumbled home. I had been there for an hour and a half and a band was getting ready to play. I’m sure they were swell, but I had been drinking for five hours and was in no condition to have my eardrums blasted by their amplifiers.

Overall, it was a very pleasant Christmas. The festivities started at Alex’s and Gillian’s home. As always, they were wonderful hosts and food and drink were in abundance. None of the guests’ behavior crossed into the realm of the unacceptable, not even mine. I’ll have to try harder next year.

If I had the time and money to spend on a therapist, I might learn why I feel the urge to make a mockery of all things good and decent. I used to blame it on youthful rebellion but at the ripe old age of 45, that excuse is wearing thin. It’s probably a waste of effort for me to ponder the cause of my love affair with dysfunction. I’m better off accepting it and keeping it reined in to a tolerable level.

For the most part, I achieved this goal yesterday. My friends are amused by (or at least forgiving of) my hijinks, which gives me substantial leeway as far as behavior is concerned. I cherish them for that and am not about to abuse the privilege.

For example, I knew it was OK to say, “When they’re having a sing-along of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth’ at the women’s shelter, I bet there are some there who don’t much feel like joining in.” This got laughs from those who know me pretty well and uncomfortable stares from those who don’t, but given my reputation, it was perfectly appropriate. If, however, I decided to drop my pants, dangle some mistletoe over Little Caesar, and ask if there are any any takers, that would be bad.

There are boundaries I prefer not to cross. Alex and I have been friends for over twenty years and I’d like that to continue. If I found myself disinvited from future Christmas gatherings at his house, I may have no choice but to spend the holidays with my family.

You know the stereotype of the drunken uncle who ruins things for everybody? I would be that drunken uncle. God help me if I ever sink that low.

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