Picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!

My better-half came home from work last night to announce that he may not have any weekdays off for Christmas or New Year's. We had planned Christmas gatherings with relatives on Dec. 24, Dec. 25 (after remembering our Lord's death at our chapel), and Jan. 1. We had hoped to have our little family celebration, including brunch, stockings, gift exchange and lounging around afterward, for Monday, Dec. 26. Well, now when do we squeeze that in?

Normally, the foundry gives employees two days off for Christmas, two days off for New Year's, even if the holidays fall on a weekend. So, we are disappointed...

Here's an appropriate reading from A Christmas Carol. I should, however, at least give the foundry credit for giving him Dec. 25 off... more than Scrooge wanted to do!

At length the hour of shutting up the counting- house arrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.

`You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?' said Scrooge.

`If quite convenient, sir.'

`It's not convenient,' said Scrooge, `and it's not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?'

The clerk smiled faintly.

`And yet,' said Scrooge, `you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's wages for no work.'

The clerk observed that it was only once a year.

`A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!' said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. `But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning.'

The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's-buff.

~Charles Dickens