There’s no use denying it: an argument around the Christmas table is inevitable.
In my household, it usually begins when my brother says something outrageous — completely intentionally, of course. He’s been a button-pusher from way back. Then my mum, or my uncle, or my crazy aunt, jumps in.
I tell myself I should say nothing. ‘Don’t bite, Caity. Don’t bite.’
I bite. The fire is fuelled.
My brother? He’s just sitting back, drink in hand, watching the nice-Christmas-lunch-with-the-family burn. Good times.
This year, there is more potential kindling for this inevitable Christmas fire than ever before. Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, most definitely. There’s feminism, but there’s always feminism.
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