My aunt insisted we make traditional Christmas cookies on Christmas Day, despite the oppressive heat outside. She pulled out an antique wooden spoon and held it dramatically above her head. "For the holiday, it's all about the flair, darlings." Her cat, Mr. Whiskers, sauntered over to investigate the scattered flour. Aunt Margaret tried to shoo him away with an old wooden ruler. As I watched her frantically wave the ruler, I couldn't help but wonder why we were wasting our air conditioning on baking. I attempted a laugh, "For tradition's sake, I suppose?" My aunt smiled stiffly and nudged me with a sugared apron, saying, "It's the holidays, dear. A little chaos is to be expected."
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