My grandmother is rather opinionated and bossy.

The holiday season is always an eye-rolling event around her, and I truly believe that the woman owns every garish Christmas trinket that anyone ever had the poor taste to distribute. Her house is a wellspring of fiber optic gaud...and she loves it...absolutely, totally loves it. Her eyes dance as the tacky lights blink and shimmy, and her laughter comes like bubbles bouncing to the surface of a quiet brook.

At dinner on Thursday, she recruited troops to decorate her condo. The woman's decoration collection weighs enough to engage in teeter totter play with the Eiffel Tower. My long suffering brother was one of the unfortunates called. He returned home from the activity today looking down and dispirited. His eyes were tired and his shoulders slumped while he shuffled dazedly from room to room. "Which family members were there?" asked Mom timidly, for lack of anything better to say.

"Oh, the stupid ones," Charlie replied on a sigh. We looked upon him with eyes rounded in shock and he continued, "Well they'd have to be the stupid ones if they actually agreed to help."