Just when I thought I could start climbing out of this pre-holiday funk, along comes disgraced domestic mogul and former Iraqi tyrant (no, wait: that's t'other guy. Oops.) Martha Stewart to kick me when I'm down by declaring this Christmas "...the saddest holiday ever."
Now granted, she could be speaking for herself (and to be sure, facing charges of conspiracy, securities fraud, obstruction of justice and making false statements could be enough to dampen anyone's enthusiasm for the season), but I figure if the woman who built an empire on showing bored, Xanax'd-to-the-tits suburban housewives how to craft crepe paper angel tree ornaments and brew mulled wine (psst..the secret ingredient is wine) is sour on the spectacle that is the celebration of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ's first moon landing, what hope is there for the rest of us? None, that's what.
Then again, upon re-reading the story in question, I musty confess to feeling no small amount of schadenfreude at Ms. Stewart's fall from grace. And, as anyone who knows me would attest, schadenfreude is pretty much my favorite thing. Even though I can't pronounce it.
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