This little story is more sad than embarrassing. Pathetic is similar to embarrassing, right?
The Bells and Whistles
When I was in high school, I was very active in my church choir. I sang alto and sometimes mezzo soprano. I played the saxophone, orchestral bells, handbells, cymbals and a host of other music enhancing percussion instruments.
At Christmas and other important church holidays, I was in high demand. This particular Christmas, I had agreed to play in every single mass that would be held at my parish. How many masses was I playing? Well, let's list them: Children's mass, Evening mass, Midnight Vigil Mass, Christmas Morning, Christmas Late Morning, and I believe there was at least one other nondescript mass. Since most of the masses were an hour and Midnight Vigil was around three, that's at very least 8 hours I spent in church over those 2 days.
My extended family had planned a Christmas Eve get together that year, which was disappointing for me since I would not be able to attend.
"We'll probably be home before the final mass is over and we'll have a Christmas Eve together then," my family members said.
I walked to the church early in the afternoon, played through the first 2 masses, twiddled my fingers until the midnight mass, played through, and then walked myself home around 11:30 at night. (This was before I could drive, you see) I called out into the dark house.
I'll have a Blue Christmas without you.
My family wasn't home yet.
I was starving by this time as I hadn't eaten since lunch and checked the fridge, thinking that a plate of Christmas dinner would have been saved for me. I would reheat my leftovers and at least have a little Christmas for myself.
Finding no plate set aside on the counter, in the fridge, or anywhere at all, I began looking for at least something to eat at all. Let's face it though. It was Christmas Eve. All of the food in the house had been ingredients for the various pot luck dishes that had been taken to the party. And those same pot luck dishes were to be leftovers for the next few days. And I came from a family that didn't stock spaghetti-O's.
I did however find one semi-palatable thing that Christmas Eve night as I sat on the couch in a dark house at midnight watching the first showing of A Christmas Story at the beginning of its annual 24 hour marathon.
And that's how it came to be known as "Canned Creamed Corn Christmas."