Mom’s right, nice is priceless: “It’s Christmas.
That means, as you read this, you probably spent the morning listening to music you can’t stand played by your teen-agers who had to have it and are so happy you bought it for them.
“Or maybe you’re winding down from a pre-breakfast of noise toys and compugames, aided only by coffee — black, because someone forgot to get milk. But you didn’t complain about that.
“Then, there was the real breakfast, featuring the waffles made on the new waffle iron you’ll never use again. Eaten by you wrapped in the bathrobe you won’t use past next week because you prefer to walk around every morning in sweats and old T-shirts with the arms cut out.
“But you liked it all fine. You were nice.
“Which is why it’s Christmas. This morning is about being nice without reason. “