The stench hung in the air. The scent filled my lungs and overpowered the pleasant smells of our Christmas tree and holiday cookies. My mom gagged and cried, "Skunk!" This began our Christmas morning.

The scratching sounds we had heard underneath the sink in my parents' bedroom finally made sense. We had housed an uninvited visitor in our mobile home.

I walked into the living room and looked at the presents under the tree. We couldn't run out of the house and leave them behind. So my dad hauled them to the car. We piled in the car with the gifts and pulled away in our station wagon sleigh.

Our quick getaway ended at my dad's office building. We walked through the dead quiet to his little office. Inside, we stacked presents on filing cabinets and on his desk.

No sooner did my parents lay the gifts down than my sister and I picked them up and ripped them open. The strewn wrapping paper livened up the gray carpet and brought festive green and red colors to the white-walled room. After opening and re-examining each gift, we noticed our hunger.

The office fridge had nothing to offer our rumbling stomachs, so we piled back into the car with our gifts. Restaurant after restaurant stood dark and still inside. Finally, after a 20-minute drive, we found the Family Pancake House filled with chattering families eating Christmas meals.

We settled down on a bench and waited for the hostess to seat us. We heard a woman at the cash register comment to some diners that someone must have hit a skunk on the road. Suppressing laughter, we exchanged looks and shook our heads.

We were finally seated at our table. Although the waitress didn't comment on our scent, we wondered how strongly we smelled.

My only memory of the food that morning were the eggshells in my poorly cooked scrambled eggs.

After breakfast, we headed back to the office to decide what to do with the rest of the day. We were supposed to go to our relatives that afternoon, but we didn't know if they'd still want us over if we smelled like skunk.

A phone call revealed they wanted us to come, so we escaped having to return to our putrid cell of a house.

We enjoyed our second Christmas celebration, complete this time with a tree and wonderful food.

Our aunt and uncle claimed that we really didn't smell that bad. However, the fancy yeast bread wreath my sister and I made for them tasted more like skunk than cinnamon.

To this day, my family goes out to eat at the Family Pancake House on Christmas morning. We don't really eat there for the food but just to laugh and remember.