This Chinese food and a movie tradition was unknown to me growing up. I think we were protected from the barrenness of Christmas for Jews by living in a neighborhood that was almost completely devoid of Christmas lights. Plus eventually we were spending Christmas week in our little vacation house in the country an hour and a half outside the city. (The City. Do I have to explain which city I'm taking about? Oh yes, I guess I have to, for my non-American readers. There is only one City. It used to be Constantinople. Now, of course, and forever, it is New York.)
Mostly, I think, my parents never knew of that tradition.
Now, though, as a member of a synagogue, I have a community with which to spend what used to be a very dreary day, no matter how much sun there was lighting up the sky. And today there was no sun at all.
It's a gay synagogue.
Well, not just gay.
LGBTQ etc etc...
I'm one of the very few in the B category.
So we do this Chinese food and movie thing on Christmas Day, although in reverse order. And since the lesbians are prone to nesting, and lots of them are in mixed relationships anyway so may be doing that other Christmas thing, I am often the only woman escorted by a dozen or so gay Jewish men.
I could do worse.
This year there was one other woman, but she was someone's sister, and didn't really count. And when our ravenous horde finally sat down to the three round tables they needed to accommodate us, I could honestly describe it as what in jest I have cited for years.
Oatmeal Girl and the 7 Gay Dwarfs
The meal was delicious.
And the movie?
It's really, really good.
Spare, in a way, but rich, too.
And marvelous acting.
Plus there's this spanking . . .
The crotch of my plain, white cotton panties provides mute testimony to my reaction.
Merry Christmas to all of you, however you chose to pass the day.