I write to you now while sitting alone, in my room, on Christmas Eve. Nobody else is in my house; they are returning home from a celebration with family.
The fault of this is mine, and mine alone. I stupidly and inexcusably procrastinated in changing my schedule, and as a result I ended up working the closing shift on Christmas Eve. My family was, to say the least, not happy. I can’t say I blame them. I’ll have to make it up to them somehow.
But anyway, perhaps a Christmas story may arise from this after all. It will be, shall we say, based on a true story. Some, ahem, minor details may be added for effect though.
We shall see.