I've made it three-quarters of the way through to the twelfth day of Christmas, which is an amazing feat. The season has been unduly full of cookie baking, concert singing, movie going, IKEA shopping, American Christmas dinner for 15 Swedes fixing, and then guests, guests and more guests, including my sister-in-law, the rebel, who was here for 18 hours before she whizzed off back to the States at 9 a.m. on Dec. 31.
Then there was that New Year's party we gave. At 8:00 a.m., instead of leaving, the last guests were given sheets and pillows to sleep on the sofas in the living room.
Someone left his or her digital camera complete with, er, interesting pictures of the football player in what could be described as an unusual yoga position. The photos could no doubt have been sold to Hänt Extra, Sweden's smarmy equivalent to The National Enquirer, for good money.
It's been a day and a half and I still feel like I could sleep for a week. But that's the mark of a good party, isn't it?
The Swedish word for the day is januari, which you don't need me to tell you means January.
by Francis S.