(Christmas story)

Merry Christmas! Christmas, Mary!

Such adorable and traditional Christmas chant. Mum woke us up as soon as we had finished counting garland lights that lead our minds in colorful Dreamland. We got stuck in viscous hospitable falling in dream deeper and deeper when mum caught our subconscious with the familiar motto for celebration. Precisely speaking, celebrations. My twin-brother, Christmas Dary Starling, and me, Mary Eve Starling, were born guess when. We called this day Birthmas (birthday + Christmas). Our appearing in this family looked like a discount at presents. What if you buy a wanted bike for future kiddo and won’t know his/her next dream for Christmas? Give a birth exact at Christmas and don’t shake head trying to come up with a new gift! However on Thanksgiving Day my brother and me always pull out from stocks some slice of gratitude for wise Nature. She lavished a generous award on our parents giving them two children. Anyway, mum and dad had to arrange two surprises. Gucci Flip Flops parents!

After mum had repeated our favorite “Merry Christmas! Christmas, Mary!” (I’m sure parents fantasied this joke because of shocking felicity from news about twins.) Dary and I out of old baby habit started to push each other coming down on stairs. Why did I mention Dary instead of Chris? When we were learning spelling tongue twisters like “Black back bat, black back bat, black back bat” and not just “bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla,” our parents decided to simplify the task with our names “Dudes Dary and Mary in dirty deeds.” We screamed it every time we got a spot on our clothes table or any other thing in any other place. Absorbing parents’ humor Dary and I formed our own name jokes. “You’re so DARRY dumb!” “Nobody will MARRY you!” As I said, we were brought up by a couple who named us Mary and Christmas just to amuse themselves once a year.

We came and noticed we had no presents. “Kiddos, I think we should tell you something serious,” said dad. We were 12 at that moment. Of course we were ready for a serious conversation.

“The point is…you and your brother…em…you and your sister…my God…”

“We were supposed to have three twins,”– mum squeezed out the last nerve cell in this phrase.

“Well. Anyway. ‘Merry Christmas’ has only two words,” – Dary always could relieve tension with predictable conclusions.

“In addition, we all knew about Dary’s unhealthy appetite,” – I always could support our ideas with such keen mind that might prick even a hedgehog.”

“So no Christmas gifts?”

“No…”