On Strike for Christmas Read Online Free PDF

thirties.
    Sharon never went anywhere without looking like she was interviewing for a job with Martha Stewart. Tonight she wore a beige turtleneck sweater over caramel-colored slacks. Her brown hair fell in one long, Texas-size wave and was tucked behind her ears to show off small, golden hoops. She was currently working on matching sweaters for her boys and using some of Debbie’s most expensive yarn. “Nothing but the best for my boys,” she always quipped. It hadn’t taken the other women long to figure out that Sharon liked nothing but the best. Period.
    â€œThis Thanksgiving was more interesting than usual,” Joy said. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on a side table, then sat down and plucked a cookie off the plate.
    Kay Carter, another knitter, had inherited children along with her husband and was a stepmother to a twelve-year-old and a fourteen-year-old. Her stepkids loved her and she still had a perfect figure, the best of both worlds, she claimed. Knitting was her second-favorite hobby. Spending money was her first, and she was famous for her after-work bargain hunting. Tonight she wore what looked like a new cashmere sweater—which she probably got for 50 percent off somewhere—dark green to show off her auburn hair and green eyes.
    She cocked an eyebrow at Joy. “So, what made this year so different?”
    â€œI made an important decision Thanksgiving night,” Joy informed her. “I’m not doing Christmas.”
    Every needle stopped, and four faces stared at Joy.
    â€œWould y’all mind repeating that? I have to have misheard you,” Sharon said.
    â€œYou heard right,” Joy said and reached for another cookie to fortify herself. “I love these cookies with the Andes Mint frosting. Who made them?”
    â€œMartha Stewart the Second,” Kay said, pointing to Sharon, who smiled and tried to look modest.
    â€œJoy, you can’t do nothing,” protested Jerri Rodriguez, putting the conversation back on track. She had reached the scarf stage in her battle against cancer, and tonight she was wearing a bright red one. With her round face and her big, brown eyes, she looked to Joy like Betty Boop dressed up as a Gypsy. “What would Dr. Phil say?” she chided.
    â€œHe’d say, ‘How’s that workin’ for ya?’” Sharon answered. “I wish I could make it work for me. But I can just imagine what a disaster we’d have if I let Pete and the boys take over.” She gave an elaborate shudder.
    Carol White, the oldest in the group and a widow, looked shocked. “Joy, you love Christmas. You’ve been talking about your son coming home for the last two weeks and all the new recipes you want to try. How can you not do Christmas?”
    â€œUm. I’ve delegated it.”
    â€œDelegated!” echoed Sharon. “To who?”
    â€œTo Bob.”
    â€œBob!” Sharon made a face. “Honey, have you got elves in your attic? What can he do?”
    â€œProbably nothing,” Joy said. She took out the scarf she was knitting for Melia and began a row, trying to act as if it was no big deal that she had just sabotaged her Christmas.
    Debbie had finished ringing up her last sale of the evening and came over to join them. “What’s going on over here? It sounds like someone had a big announcement.” She pulled out a half-finished cable-knit sweater and started on it, needles flying.
    â€œJoy’s not doing Christmas,” explained Sharon.
    â€œOh.” Debbie looked puzzled. “I never pegged you as one of those people who doesn’t want to see a Christmas tree in town square.”
    â€œI’m not,” Joy said. “I love the holiday, and I think everyone can find something to celebrate in it.”
    â€œEveryone but you?” Debbie was still trying to follow.
    â€œShe’s going on strike,” Sharon cracked.
    â€œOn strike?” From