An update for Christmas
I have set myself a Christmas challenge...we shall see what happens.
It involves a cat. Because there's a very pretty one keeping me company right now.
It's shamelessly sappy and fluffy and improbable. But it's Christmas. And it's nearly 2 am. So...oh well.
Christian hated Christmas. Although he supposed that it was a bit hackneyed of him to despise the holiday as he did, he nonetheless persisted in his extreme dislike. Every Christmas, and most particularly this one, found him hidden in some obscure corner with some equally obscure tome. 'A Natural History of New Guinea: Its Flora and Fauna' might not be very interesting, but it was better than standing about in his best suit listening to his family's ridiculous friends and feigning interest in their irredeemably boring lives. And if he ever let his studiously polite facade slip as far as coldly polite...well, then, he would be attacked from all sides with an onslaught of "holiday cheer". Actually, come to think of it, it was most inconvenient to hate Christmas. After all attempts to fill him with even a morsel of The Christmas Spirit had failed, the inevitable comparison between him and Mr. Dickens' immortal antagonist-turned-protagonist would be drawn. And then efforts would be redoubled. Usually, when forced to attend some event or other, Christian would be able to slip away with one of the better bottles of wine, and find a quiet place to read. But it was still all a terrible bother. This Christmas, he resolved, he would not be found at all.
Well before anyone else had even so much as opened their eyes, Christian crept out of bed and, donning a dressing gown against the chill, began to seek for a suitable hiding place. He looked out the window, and realized that the snow expected to fall last night had not come and an idea started to coalesce in his head.
Twenty minutes later, Christian was quietly making his way towards the dorms, continuously glancing backwards to see if anyone was watching him from the house. He knew that as long as he wasn't caught at this stage, he would be safe. If his mother couldn't find him within half an hour, she would stop looking, and that she wouldn't think to check the dorms. He knew that he could expect a very severe lecture when he returned, but he didn't particularly care. Extracting a key from his pocket, Christian moved closer to his destination.
Finally, Christian reached his room. He had his hand on the doorknob, when he was confronted with a strange rumbling sound coming from his room. Tentatively, he turned the handle, and the door swung open. He didn't quite know what he'd been expecting, but it was certainly not the sight that awaited him. Thomas was lounging on Christian's bed, a cat in his lap, reading one of Christian's books, sipping a cup of tea, and looking sickeningly content.
"Coming in?" he asked.
Christian was rather too dumbfounded for words, but he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
"Why are you here?"
Thomas shrugged. "More comfortable than my room. And a better reading selection." He held up a copy of Milton's Paradise Lost.
"Thomas, please explain why you are in my room, on my bed, reading my book, and drinking my tea. And the cat. Explain that too."
"Well, Christian, if you must know, I felt that Paradise Lost was a very appropriate book to be reading on Our Savior's birthday...excuse me, the pagan holiday that was co-opted by the early Church, and I didn't have a copy. Really, it's as simple as that."
"And the cat?" Christian was somewhat confused at the fairly credible imitation of Christian that Thomas seemed to be putting on.
"Found it."
"Really, Thomas" Christian recovered. "I don't understand why you're here. I hate this holiday and I came out here in order to get a bit of peace and quiet. To remove myself from the ridiculous Christmas atmosphere that my mother insist on perpetrating".
"Oh but Christian, Christmas isn't all bad". Thomas showed no signs of intending to remove himself from Christian's bed.
"Yes it is. It's an utterly pointless holiday that is quickly becoming intensely secularized and begets a culture of materialism that..."
"Do you ever stop talking?" Thomas was somehow suddenly standing right in front of Christian.
"I...well..." Whatever it was that Christian was going to say was lost in Thomas' kiss.
A bit later, when the cat (who had mysteriously disappeared) had reappeared, and had comfortably nested itself on the bed between Christian and Thomas, Thomas turned to Christian.
"Well," he said "is Christmas so very awful?"
"I think," Christian mused as he idly scratched the cat's ears, "that I might learn to like it after all."
And...we're done. It's 2:40. I'm very tired. I hope that that wasn't too dreadful. It was so very sappy and fluffy. Oy. Bed. The bed looks very comfortable. I'm going to go sleep on it. Right now.
It involves a cat. Because there's a very pretty one keeping me company right now.
It's shamelessly sappy and fluffy and improbable. But it's Christmas. And it's nearly 2 am. So...oh well.
Christian hated Christmas. Although he supposed that it was a bit hackneyed of him to despise the holiday as he did, he nonetheless persisted in his extreme dislike. Every Christmas, and most particularly this one, found him hidden in some obscure corner with some equally obscure tome. 'A Natural History of New Guinea: Its Flora and Fauna' might not be very interesting, but it was better than standing about in his best suit listening to his family's ridiculous friends and feigning interest in their irredeemably boring lives. And if he ever let his studiously polite facade slip as far as coldly polite...well, then, he would be attacked from all sides with an onslaught of "holiday cheer". Actually, come to think of it, it was most inconvenient to hate Christmas. After all attempts to fill him with even a morsel of The Christmas Spirit had failed, the inevitable comparison between him and Mr. Dickens' immortal antagonist-turned-protagonist would be drawn. And then efforts would be redoubled. Usually, when forced to attend some event or other, Christian would be able to slip away with one of the better bottles of wine, and find a quiet place to read. But it was still all a terrible bother. This Christmas, he resolved, he would not be found at all.
Well before anyone else had even so much as opened their eyes, Christian crept out of bed and, donning a dressing gown against the chill, began to seek for a suitable hiding place. He looked out the window, and realized that the snow expected to fall last night had not come and an idea started to coalesce in his head.
Twenty minutes later, Christian was quietly making his way towards the dorms, continuously glancing backwards to see if anyone was watching him from the house. He knew that as long as he wasn't caught at this stage, he would be safe. If his mother couldn't find him within half an hour, she would stop looking, and that she wouldn't think to check the dorms. He knew that he could expect a very severe lecture when he returned, but he didn't particularly care. Extracting a key from his pocket, Christian moved closer to his destination.
Finally, Christian reached his room. He had his hand on the doorknob, when he was confronted with a strange rumbling sound coming from his room. Tentatively, he turned the handle, and the door swung open. He didn't quite know what he'd been expecting, but it was certainly not the sight that awaited him. Thomas was lounging on Christian's bed, a cat in his lap, reading one of Christian's books, sipping a cup of tea, and looking sickeningly content.
"Coming in?" he asked.
Christian was rather too dumbfounded for words, but he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
"Why are you here?"
Thomas shrugged. "More comfortable than my room. And a better reading selection." He held up a copy of Milton's Paradise Lost.
"Thomas, please explain why you are in my room, on my bed, reading my book, and drinking my tea. And the cat. Explain that too."
"Well, Christian, if you must know, I felt that Paradise Lost was a very appropriate book to be reading on Our Savior's birthday...excuse me, the pagan holiday that was co-opted by the early Church, and I didn't have a copy. Really, it's as simple as that."
"And the cat?" Christian was somewhat confused at the fairly credible imitation of Christian that Thomas seemed to be putting on.
"Found it."
"Really, Thomas" Christian recovered. "I don't understand why you're here. I hate this holiday and I came out here in order to get a bit of peace and quiet. To remove myself from the ridiculous Christmas atmosphere that my mother insist on perpetrating".
"Oh but Christian, Christmas isn't all bad". Thomas showed no signs of intending to remove himself from Christian's bed.
"Yes it is. It's an utterly pointless holiday that is quickly becoming intensely secularized and begets a culture of materialism that..."
"Do you ever stop talking?" Thomas was somehow suddenly standing right in front of Christian.
"I...well..." Whatever it was that Christian was going to say was lost in Thomas' kiss.
A bit later, when the cat (who had mysteriously disappeared) had reappeared, and had comfortably nested itself on the bed between Christian and Thomas, Thomas turned to Christian.
"Well," he said "is Christmas so very awful?"
"I think," Christian mused as he idly scratched the cat's ears, "that I might learn to like it after all."
And...we're done. It's 2:40. I'm very tired. I hope that that wasn't too dreadful. It was so very sappy and fluffy. Oy. Bed. The bed looks very comfortable. I'm going to go sleep on it. Right now.