It happens every December, before dinner parties and cocktail events. My husband rummages deep in his dresser, pushing sweaters around like piles of autumn leaves, until he emerges triumphant with the piece of knitwear for which he has been searching: that legendary item, the ugly Christmas sweater.
Not that this is actually an ugly Christmas sweater. It is, in fact (and in honor of our interfaith union), an ugly Christmukkah sweater, one knit from particularly garish shades of acrylic and featuring Rudolph with a menorah instead of antlers. A menorah that, with the press of a button, lights up. Every time I see it, I can’t help but roll my
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