Don’t get me wrong. I like Christmas (or whatever the latest politically correct designation might be). I just don’t appreciate the fact it gets in the way. Difficult to put in 16-hour days with people waving bottles of fine wine, single malt, and five-star cognac under your nose. Even more difficult to keep up the jollity when you’re slipping further and further into the quagmire known as “the deadline” or “the pit of postmodern time.”
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