Flour, Frost, and a Taste of Anarchy

I love Christmas, but sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in a never-ending loop of sugar cookies and cheer. My mom, on the other hand, is the epitome of festive joy. She’s the one who keeps the North Pole’s traditions alive, and I’m constantly in awe of her dedication. But today, on Christmas Eve, something snapped. I was covered in flour, my long-sleeved red blouse was stained, and my hair was tied up in a messy braid. My mom, bless her heart, was piping icing onto a batch of cupcakes, oblivious to the chaos that was brewing inside me. I glanced over at her, and my eyes met hers. It was as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. The look we exchanged was almost…mischievous.

You see, I’ve been feeling a bit…restless lately. The routine of it all is starting to get to me. The endless baking, the toy-making, the endless cheer. It’s all a bit too much. I yearn for something more, something that will shake things up. My mom, ever the optimist, would say that I’m just looking for a bit of excitement, but I know it’s more than that. I’m a rebel, a free spirit, and Christmas is just too…conventional for me. But what if I told you that today, I took a stand? I decided to break free from the shackles of tradition and do something truly subversive…I ordered a pizza. That’s right, a pizza. On Christmas Eve. In the North Pole. The horror!

The look on my mom’s face was priceless. She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Kitty, what are you doing?’ she asked, her voice laced with a mix of shock and amusement. I just grinned, my eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘I’m taking a break from the madness, mom,’ I said, as I devoured the first slice of pizza. It was like a taste of anarchy, a declaration of independence from the norm. My mom laughed, a deep, throaty sound, and joined me in my rebellion. Together, we savored the pizza, our faces flushed with excitement, our spirits soaring. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, a moment that I’ll cherish forever.