During my second or third Christmas as a single Mama, I was at home on a Saturday evening in December while JT was with his other mother. By then, I had settled into routine for these weekends on my own, though I still felt bruised and was careful to avoid situations and circumstances which might trigger sadness.
On this evening, as the Christmas lights twinkled, I was putting together a Playmobil set that Santa would give JT. I turned on the TV for companionship and settled on a movie entitled Bad Santa. Just a few minutes into the film, I knew it was not for me, at least not that year, while I was struggling mightily to keep living in hope. I changed the channel but made a mental note that Bad Santa might amuse me if I had a different mindset.
Years later, and in a different mindset all together, T and I watched Bad Santa. It’s crude and mean. It’s also ridiculously funny. It’s become a holiday tradition for T and I; not one that I am particularly proud of, mind you, but a tradition nonetheless. This year, there is a Bad Santa 2 in the theaters. And now you know where we went on Black Friday.
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