"this is war"

Some families watch festive movies on Christmas Eve, others go caroling.  My family used to make gingerbread houses, but have since graduated to a more serious tradition that reminds us to be thankful for our life and safety.  Hello, paint balling!  It's always sounded painful and not altogether appealing, but somehow this year I let Rachel convince me to put on seven layers of sweatshirts and join in.

Once I was huddled behind a tree in the freezing cold and hardly able to see far enough to spot the opposing team from my foggy face shield, I remembered why I decided to sit out in the past.  To add to my quickly increasing list of reasons playing was a bad choice, darling Rachel hit me twice on the inner thigh.  The inner thigh!  I still have huge black bruises, which are a very sexy addition to my white legs.

To be fair, I did get her back - in. the. face.  So take that, paint balling.  It didn't feel as satisfying as I'd hoped, but maybe I was just too cold to do cartwheels across the war zone.  Or maybe I was about to pee my pants in fear.  Okay, probably both.