When you’re at sea with the same shipmates for a long time, stuff as little as the way one guy gargles can be enough to make you want to heave him over the rail.

You might say a ship’s crew is like a family.

On Christmas, we give the mess table a wipedown, much the same as some landfolk use a linen tablecloth, and we have an extra special meal—usually something that doesn’t need microwaving. The thing is, we’re used to hoovering up the chow so we can get on back to our quarters and do our own thing, blogging for instance. The nature of the holiday obliges us to sit there extralong and make cheerful conversation, like about how grateful we are about stuff, which is true, but how long does it take to say it? Also you can’t cuss on Christmas, and that’s the majority of the verbiage that usually emanates from our pie holes, so it’s extra-tooth-pulling to make conversation. Then once the meal is finally over, we’ve got to spend even more time with one another, sitting around after and chatting some more about how thankful we are for the dinner we got to have.

You think this is why, on holidays of old, crews got an extra ration of rum?