12 Days of Christmas Capers ✔️

『Episode 1』

Episode 1: Gingerbread is the Soul of Wit

December 14th

Over the twelve days leading up until Christmas, I had a chaotic, but amazing time. I let a hoard of dogs loose in a department store, I was involved in a gingerbread explosion, I found out that I really should not run a bookstore, and most importantly, I fell for someone.

It was a bit like a drug induced dream; wonderful and exciting, but as soon as it was over I was left longing for more.

But I digress, for the sake of proper understanding, I should provide you with some necessary background information.

Over Christmas, my family and I, as in myself, my mother, father and little sister, stayed with our extended family; uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, et cetera, in my great grandmother's ancestral home on the island of Île Petite.

Île Petite is a tiny island smacked right between France and Canada. It's practically unknown to the rest of the world, I mean it literally has a population of 4,122 people, give or take. I think it's technically a British colony, though its culture isn't that British. I do know that France, Ireland and Canada have all made claims on it at some point in history.

Since half of my family hail from there, we tend to visit every five years or so. We'd go more often, but it's quite a trip from Australia.

As I write this, I feel as if I'm progressively getting more off topic. Like all good stories, I shall begin at the beginning, where the seeds for the ongoing shenanigans were first planted.

I was with my cousin Hestia, who was sixteen, about a year older than me when this takes place. We were flopped on her bed, chatting mindlessly and scrolling through our phones. (This was quite unsuccessful however, the wi-fi at Great Grandma Emmaline's is not the best).

*

I snuggled deeper into the warmth of Hestia's tartan blanket, with the intent of going for a nap at eleven in the morning. Before then I'd been attempting to watch YouTube, but the app was buffering so much I decided to completely stuff it.

"Geez Dot, didn't you sleep last night?" Hestia said, poking me in the ribcage.

I mumbled a reply, and Hetty poked me again, but with more force this time.

I jerked, and Hestia, evil woman that she is, tickled me. I squealed and squirmed.

"Ah! Hetty stop it..."

I snatched her tortoise shell glasses off of her face before she could continue. "You don't get the glasses back until you promise to stop."

Hestia have me an, inappropriately, dramatic eye roll. "Fine I promise."

I handed back the glasses.

"To keep tickling you!"

She dug her fingers into the side of my body, I made a screaming-giggling noise that made me sound like a piglet. Hestia poked my in the belly and I doubled over.

"Mercy!"

Hetty chortled, "Never!"

I rolled off the bed and landed with a 'thump' on the carpeted floor. My escape from Hestia was successful.

She peeped at me from over the edge of the bed, "Coward."

"I can live with that."

Hestia flopped back down on her bed, her lithe body enveloped by a mess of aesthetically pleasing blankets and cushions. Really, Hetty really did have a pretty consistent aesthetic; everything in her was either brown, white, black or mustard, minimalistic photos that she had taken herself was the main wall decor.