Emilie's family and I went to Quebec for a New Year's Eve party, and a tradition that my feet were not prepared for.
Each year her family and two other families all get together for New Year's Eve, involving a slap-up meal, lots of drinking, Secret Santa (involving a game to decide who will get which, normally slightly comedy, present: I got a Pirates of the Caribbean Calendar), and a painful tradition. Soon after the stroke of midnight everybody strips down to their pants (although the girls all cheat by wearing t-shirts) and jumps into the snow. Before this I was worried mostly about the effects of the cold on my nether-anatomy, although I discovered it is mostly painful on your bare feet. Coming back into the warmth the poor plates-of-meat didn't know where they were. Still, I survived, and I'm sure it helped to score points with the in-laws.
