Christmas Morning At The Mabels Official

In the center of the storm stood the matriarch, Martha Mabel, holding a spatula like a weapon of war. She was wearing a reindeer apron stained with what was either cranberry sauce or lipstick—nobody asked—and she was shouting over the wail of the alarm.

Martha looked at the ruined tree. She looked at her husband, who was sheepishly trying to prop the fir back up with a stack of old National Geographics. She looked at the smoke stain on the ceiling that was definitely going to be shaped like Santa Claus. christmas morning at the mabels

The smoke detector was screaming, the dog was eating the tinsel, and Uncle Sid was already on his third mug of something that smelled like jet fuel. It was, by all definitions, a perfect Christmas morning at the Mabels'. In the center of the storm stood the