Samuel Beckett sat down every December and has given the detailed account of all twelve months of the year gone. This precise documentation has helped him to summarize and analyze the events and move on to a new exiting chapter.
I sit down every December and eat. Fried meat, fried mushrooms and fried potatoes. I munch - even though I hate the bloody word - on gherkins. Pickles. They are the best.
And we watch things on TV. Baby Jesus is being born. Pass the ketchup will you? Mary is all happy and virginal. Is there more fries? The three shepherds arrive. Endless commercials come on, cars, toothpaste, shopping centers. The three kings give their presents. We are on to dessert.
It is all golden.
Actually I am named after the event. FYI - even though I bloody hate shortenings - my name is Natalia.
Natalia is derived from Deos Natales (well, from something really similar anyways) which means
'The birth of God'.
- Isn't it the birth of Goddess? - people joke sometimes.
I pretend to blush by sending an extra shot of my divine blood to cruise around my cheeks.
As if God would have to decide what sex God is.
Silly.
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