A Christmas Pumpkin

Those sandwiches look delish.

On Christmas morn, Santa left a pumpkin on the fireplace, a good sign that my day was off to a bad start. Normally, Santa leaves bupkis. A leftover Halloween squash? Santa's got a mean streak.  Who knew?  On Christmas Day, I missed a major noshing opp: brunch at Elena's, an annual tradition for four gals who went to Emerson, Uni and UCLA together. Elena kept hoping for a Hanukkah miracle, that my voice would return, but my voice couldn't catch a flight back in time. On Christmas night, I missed another noshing opp:  dinner at my in-laws.  My mother in-law told me to stay home and rest and keep my germs to myself.  So while everyone gorged in Brentwood, the SJG threw my own festive pity party in Sherman Oaks.

I popped a few frozen latkes in the oven, lathered on the applesauce and low-cal sour cream, and watched "When Harry Met Sally" for the zillionth time.  Whenever they ate on screen, I texted the college son. "What are you eating now?" "Some caviar cheese thing." I texted a sad face.  Oh, how I adore hors d'oevres!  "What are you eating now?" I texted, a few minutes later. "Latkes, turkey, spinach and challah." "That hurts," I texted, adding two weeping faces for extra guilt.  "Dad told me to stop texting."  I texted back eight hysterical, screaming Edvard Munch faces.  On screen, Harry and Sally were at the deli.  Sally liked her sandwich so much, she achieved faux nirvana right there in the booth. The power of fresh rye bread.  I resisted the urge to text, until the strained party scene.  Harry and Sally had hit their "not really talking" phase. Harry's date brought a chocolate cheese cake to die for. The vicarious thrill was more than I could handle. I fell apart.  "What are you eating now?" I texted.  My question went unanswered.  I got nothing back. That hurt most of all.  By the time Sally and Harry were describing their coconut wedding cake, with the chocolate sauce on the side, the three wise men appeared with a care package. I reviewed the contents.  I wasn't all that impressed.  "You've got to be kidding," I croaked.  "What's wrong?" hubby asked.  "No dessert?"  "Sorry."  "Not even a cookie?" "I didn't think you'd want one."  "Have you met me?" "They were just these little cookies some neighbor made." "Were they good?" "They were okay." "Don't lie to me.  They were the best cookies you've ever eaten, weren't they?" "They were nothing special." "You're just saying that to make me feel better." "Is it working?" "Not so much," I said, and went upstairs to watch the Food Channel.