by A Lump of Clay
Yep, it’s that time of the year again, when you would usually notice that yours truly begins developing a strange allergy. An allergy exacerbated by the jingling of sleighbells in a land with no snow. A jingling that leads to inevitable discomfort. Discomfort over impending festivities. Festivities that, were it not for the endless bounty of free cookies, tidbits, muruku, sweets and bubbly, would have me climbing the wall in frustration. Frustration from fruitlessly searching the pages of Holy Scriptures (“christmas” just refuses to come up in any concordance, dang!) for some hint of any mysterious celebration on the 25th of December, that would explain the mysterious origins of all the mysterious brouhaha surrounding this mysterious date.
But then it came upon me on one very silent night this December.