"But it's the holidays!" doesn't seem like such a good excuse anymore when you're on a treadmill, all fat and crying

One of the saddest sounds in the world is hearing fireworks, but not actually seeing them. It's right up there with the whimper of golden retriever puppy or the wail of Britney Spears' baby as it rolls around in the backseat floor of her Mercedes because no one bothered to put a seat belt on it.

But luckily, I did see the fireworks that I was hearing last night. More specifically, the Christmas fireworks in Manhattan Beach, California. Maybe it was all the hot moms in holiday sweaters, maybe it was the Bailey's, on ice, with chocolate shavings, but there was something magical in the air. It was the first time this December that I felt the shiver of Christmas magic. The twinkle lights were twinkling, the cinnamon eggnog was brewing and the children were getting red and green puffy paint all over the carpets. Last night was the first time that "But it's the holidays!" actually sounded like a logical excuse for consuming every piece of chocolate I could find.

If I know one thing, I know this. Sitting on the beach with boozy cider, watching merry fireworks is not the absolute worst way to celebrate the holiday season.