ambivalent to any Christmas cheer. I’m not sure if I’ve ever gotten over the trauma of him throwing my precious small plastic Christmas tree away one year. Every year, all through Christmas dinner, he sits in a corner eating quietly and rolling his eyes at Christmas clichés. Then, a magical moment arrives. When it’s time to douse the Christmas pudding in brandy and flambé it, finally, I see a spark in his eyes and he gets excited.
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