Whose Parents for Christmas? A Couple Negotiates

So... we probably ought to broach the subject of Christmas.

Ah, the annual summit. Shall I fetch the negotiating table?

Only if we can agree on the shape of it first.

Go on, then. What's your opening position?

My family, Christmas Day. It's been two years, strictly speaking.

Two years? Last year was a technicality, and you know it!

A mince pie on Boxing Day hardly counts as a visit.

Look, if we skip Mum's, I'll never hear the end of it.

She'll mention it casually, every Sunday, until roughly next Easter.

Ah yes, the sigh, followed by 'Don't mind me, I'll manage.'

Whereas your dad's idea of festive cheer is a six-hour Monopoly marathon.

That's unfair! It was Risk, and it was barely five hours.

Ugh, he annexed Australia and gloated about it till midnight!

Well... he does take his continental strategy rather seriously.

And then there's the small matter of getting anywhere.

Hmm, the trains on Christmas Eve are a lottery at best.

We could drive, if you're happy to brave the M6?

Oh... last time we spent three hours stuck near Birmingham.

Fair point. Let's keep the motorway as a last resort.

So, what if we split the day between them?

Two roast dinners in one day? I'd need hospitalising!

Spoken like a man who's never declined seconds in his life.

Well, alternatively, we could just... stay here, the two of us.

And incur the wrath of both families simultaneously? Bold!

Wait, what if we host? Both families, here, together!

Your dad and my mum, under one roof? Are you mad?

Nobody travels, nobody feels slighted, and we control the board games!

Hmm, and Mum can't play the martyr if she's a guest.

Fine. But next year, we alternate, and it's in writing.

Deal. Shall we shake on it, or draft a treaty?

A handshake will do. I trust you... mostly.

And I'll personally confiscate Risk before your mum arrives.

Now that, darling, is the most romantic thing you've ever said.