I love this Christmas story so much, I wanna take it behind the jr. high school & get it pregnant.

So, at work for the holiday season, HR sent out an email asking people to think of some of their favorite Christmas memories or traditions, and share them at our monthly staff meeting. Twin brother (and coworker) told me I should come up with something, since I like to write, and, to my surprise, I did come up with a little somethin’ somethin’. I mean, we all know that as I am sooooo busy with my dream job of being a receptionist, it was suuuuuper hard to find time to write, but I did; wow.

Along with one other whopping employee.
Out of about a hundred of us.

Now, you know me. You know that my memory wasn’t going to be sappy, or tearful, or even inspiring. Because that’s not how I work. I go for laughter. (And I had my boss all ready to start doing a pity laugh, so that in case no one else did, at least I’d get something.) But I did not need his pity laugh. I had them all rolling around on the floor roaring, thank you very much. (Score 10 self-esteem points for the Briester!)

…So, I’d like to share with you all the Christmas memory that I just read to my coworkers. It’s a goodie. (Don’t let the length daunt you. Have I ever let you down with a good story?) And even if you do hate it or think it's boring SHUTUP ABOUT IT because this is, like, for posterity's sake.
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Back when Brett and I and all of our siblings were younger, every Christmas Eve, to our utter dismay, our mom liked to host a talent show of sorts. Now, you need to understand that our family is spectacularly talentless. We do not sing or dance, or throw batons, or play the violin or even do magic tricks. My nine siblings and I have decided that only one of our siblings, our sister, Misty, who is married to our brother-in-law and co-worker,B, took all the talent from the rest of us – she is an absolute and literal genius at playing the piano. She gleaned all the talent from us, we decided, no kidding. So, naturally, she loved the talent show, because she, you know, actually had talent, and could bask in the glory as we’d all listen and sing along as she played beautiful and mesmerizing Christmas carols. Afterward, perhaps another brother or sister would plunk out an elementary song on the piano, glaring at our mom all the while because she was making them do it. One brave soul sang a song that was painfully off-key. (Silent Night has some ^high notes that the Brown family does not have the ability to hit!) So let’s be honest, we were all pretty mediocre. But we did it because Mom made us – and Mom always had the last word. So there it was. Brett and I had to perform; had to come up with some sort of talent. What on earth were we going to do?

Well, that year Brett and I were only ten years old and in the 5th grade, and we’d started taking cello lessons the year before, in 4th grade. Neither of us was thrilled at the aspect of playing the cello at all, but Mom thought it’d be good for us to be “cultured.” As if playing Kumbaya really badly on the cello could culture us, but whatever.

So, that Christmas Eve, in the year 1994, our mom had the brilliantly disastrous idea in her head that Brett and I should play a cello duet for the family. I was adamantly against this idea and kept refusing, sensing a catastrophe ahead, but Brett, with his usual calm and chilled out demeanor, just shrugged and said, “Sure, let’s do it.” I punched him in the arm and gave him a dead-arm. I didn’t even feel bad because he deserved it for getting us into this mess. (I still don’t feel bad about it, either. He knows why.) So we begrudgingly pulled out our cellos and decided to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star – it wasn’t even a Christmas song, but it was the only song we even knew how to remotely coherently play!

So we hesitantly began the song, and we weren’t even sure our cellos were properly tuned – (why we knew not how to tune our cellos after 1 1/2 years of lessons should demonstrate to you our outstanding ability of cello suckage) and let’s be honest, we sounded HORRIBLE. Not just bad, but like really really really ridiculously bad. Our cello song resembled that of an alarm going off where people panic and start running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Or, like, maybe a cacophony of squealing pigs. Remembering the rendition of our crappy song still makes me cringe. This, I realized, was definitely not going to be one of our finest moments.

And I was right. Immediately, our older brother (the jerk) busted out laughing. And, not, like, this little giggle to himself that he tried to stifle. We’re talking about an all-out cackle – the guy was practically rolling around on the ground roaring. Shortly thereafter, many of our other siblings started to laugh too; it was contagious, laughing at our pathetic display of our supposed “talent.” Mom started yelling at everybody to shut up and swatting whichever kid who was laughing that was within arm’s length. But it was too late. Once the laughing began, it was impossible to control. We were in for it.

I really and truly wished I was like dead, right at that moment, or maybe being mauled by a giant man-eating bear, or something, because I decided ANYTHING would be better than the humiliation my bratty siblings were generously heaping upon me. I bowed my head over my cello, long hair covering my face, and started sobbing. Mid-playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Brett started laughing and waving his cello bow around and posing for pictures; he was absolutely un-traumatized with the less-than-impressed crowd.
So…If you didn’t know already, you’ll all know now that Brett and I have very different personalities. I’m much too sensitive, while my twin brother could and still can effortlessly brush off other people's poor opinions of him. Man they were being jerks and he didn’t even care!

So naturally, I dramatically ran out of the room crying, all the while sobbing, I did my best, I did my best, and after Brett had performed for the tough crowd a little longer, loving every minute of it, he came over to me, where I was dramatically sprawled on the stairs, bawling, and he put his arm around me, and like the sweet brother he’s always been, and said, “It’s no big deal, Sis. You did do your best.” And I had, which is the pathetic thing. And Brett, like always – then and even now, made me feel better. He always can.

After that fateful Christmas Eve, I never played the cello again; I absolutely refused to ever go back to lessons, though Brett made a valiant effort for another year. Along with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, he also eventually learned to play This Land is Your Land. Two songs in two years. Go him!

Every Christmas, without fail, my brother (who instigated the laughing-fest back on that momentous Christmas Eve) suggests Brett and I pull out our old cellos and play them a lovely tune. Brett laughs, and I do too, but secretly I am plotting his demise. One day I will have major payback. I await patiently. And he’ll know why, oh, he’ll know why.

So it’s been 15 years since that Christmas Eve, and I still remember it like it was yesterday. And I, for the record, will never ever make my child play the cello.

Or perform in a talent show.

Our family’s Christmas Eve talent show, in the years following, has never been quite so eventful. And it’s also never again involved cellos, so, so fortunately.