I’ve always experienced the happiest moments on Christmas morning. The faint Christ-
mas music playing from our living room television would wake me from my slumber. Stretching

in my soft sheets, my red, green, white and red plaid Christmas pajamas rub against my comfort-
er. My fluffy reindeer socks muffle the cool, wooden floor as they travel to the bathroom.

      I quickly coat my white teeth in green, minty toothpaste. My excitement controls the swift
movement of the bristles from my toothbrush against my teeth. When I spit out the toothpaste, I
pour in a tsunami of piercing, purple mouthwash. My cheeks take turns pushing the mouthwash
from one side to the other, like windshield wipers pushing the water away on a rainy day. My
face is welcomed with a splash of cold water and dried with my fluffy towel.
      In the hallway, doors begin to creak open one by one, followed by soft steps and curious
eyes toward the bathroom. My body descends from the stairs, hands holding on to the railing
to prevent me from falling. Our tall, sparkly Christmas tree rests in its designated corner. The
carefully wrapped gifts pour out from underneath the tree like wrapped candy from a bag. The
glittery ornaments, tinsel, and flashing lights from the tree reflect off the shiny wrapping paper as
if the gifts were lost treasure. Near the window, tiny snowflakes fall steadily and build upon the
mounds of snow.
      The scent of breakfast passes my nostrils. The dining room table is strategically set; golden

plates with cutlery at its sides, deep red napkins folded into swans, and tall wine glasses that glis-
ten like lamposts on a street. My special mug, sculpted like Mrs. Claus, is filled with hot choco-
late. The tiny, white marshmallows float at the top of the soupy chocolate, suffocated by a thick

swirl of whipped cream. As my tongue touches the cool fluffy treat, a wave of warm chocolate
liquid pierces through. My tastebuds are wrapped in a sweet blanket, my tongue resting on the
squishy, white marshmallow pillows.