The left right Christmas game

It was Christmas Eve, and the Macleods were running late, which was right on schedule for the Macleods. Dad packed the car and left the engine running while Mum went back inside for the pies she had left on the counter. "Is that everything?" she asked. "Right," said Dad, which meant he had no idea.

They left the driveway at four, turned right onto Maple Street and left onto the highway, and the snow started right away. Grandpa's old map said to take the next exit on the right. The phone said to keep left. Mum said the phone was right, Dad said the map had never been wrong, and the kids in the back said they needed a washroom right now.

Somewhere past Kingston, the car slid gently left, then gently right, and came to rest in a snowbank with nothing hurt but Dad's pride. A snowplough pulled up right behind them. "Happens every year," said the driver, and towed them out with the chain he left in his cab for exactly this.

By the time they reached Nan's, the only light left on was the porch light, which she always left on for them. Nan opened the door right as they reached it. "You're late," she said, "and you're right on time." There was turkey left, pie left, and one chair left at the table, right next to the tree.

Dad admitted the phone had been right. Mum admitted she had left the whipped cream at home. And everyone agreed that the right way to spend Christmas Eve was the long way, as long as it ended right here.

So pass your gift to the left one last time, and keep the one that ends up right in front of you. Merry Christmas.

On the last Friday before the holidays, the office party started right at four, which is to say nobody arrived until half past. Priya from accounting left her desk first, right after sending one last email she would regret on Monday.

The boss had left instructions: the food on the left, the drinks on the right, and nobody touches the thermostat. By five, the food on the left was gone, the drinks on the right were going, and someone had touched the thermostat.

Then came the Secret Santa. Marcus drew a name, looked right, looked left, and put it back. "You can't do that," said Priya. "Right," said Marcus, and drew again. He got himself. Everyone agreed that was right for Marcus.

The printer, which had been left alone all year out of respect, chose that moment to jam. Someone from IT arrived right away, which had never happened before, and fixed it by turning it left, then right, then off and on again. There was a round of applause.

At seven, the boss stood up to make a speech, took one look at what was left of the cake, and said the right thing: "Go home." Half the room left right then. The other half left their coats behind and had to come back.

By the time the lights went off, all that was left was glitter, a stack of paper plates, and a note on the fridge: whoever took the last samosa, you know what you did. Hold on to the gift in your hands. It is the right one.