To sneak, during the big Christmas festivities of the family, to the table with the massive, newly started jigsaw and find a piece of your own to smash into a completely faulty space which yet looks perfectly right, may give a sensation of elevated satisfaction and deep meaningfulness. This insignificant and trivial act is an excellent way of discovering otherwise hidden patterns and brings before you difficult existentialist matters, such as:
Is it possible to get the small piece out of there again?
Why do all jigsaws of 5000 pieces have a subject that makes all the pieces look the same?
How well does the failing link actually fit in? and
Could it have an injurious effect on the keeping of Christmas?
After such ruminations, the choice finally lies between the request of unbroken naiveté to other jigsaw-interested members of the family to find their own pieces to carve and bash into optional spaces, or to blame the children of your cousin.
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