Basement Chronicles

Lo

As I sit in my parent's house, drinking tea and looking and the freshly fallen snow, I ponder the true meaning of Christmas.

Wait, no. Not really. I'm eating crackers and spinach dip, listening to my sister sleeping through "Must Love Dogs", and wearing thin on my parent's patience as I continue to post a Chronicle while they clean in preparation for the fiesta we're having tonight.

The true meaning of Christmas?

Enchiladas, my friends. En...chi...ladas.

Ah, here comes the chore list. Merry Christmas folks. And a pleasant Saturnalia, if you're into that sort of the thing.