Boxing Day is infinitely better than Christmas.

First of all, you don’t have to act like a human ping-pong ball bouncing from one family gathering to another.

Secondly, there’s no gift giving with its associated embarrassments.

(One Christmas I bought my dear mother a silver Glomesh cigarette case. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She looked at it like it was a dead rat then quietly slipped it in a drawer, never to be seen again.)

Thirdly, you can relax with the family you choose – your friends – and dissect the events of the past 24 hours.

As much as we love Christmas, it remains the most stressful time of year.

The whole Jesus thing raises unresolved issues for Australians, who are predominantly non-practising Christians or atheists.

I almost passed out with fright during the first Christmas service at my Catholic secondary school.

With all the pomp and ceremony, I somehow became convinced that an animal – probably a goat – was about to be sacrificed.

I’ve since learned not to take the words “Lord, accept this sacrifice” quite so literally.

And it’s hard explaining the true meaning of Christmas to small children.

“Mum, who’s that man with the beard and blood on him?” Taj asks.

“Well, his name is Jesus and he was a good and kind man who lived a long time ago. Some people believe he died and came back from the dead,” I ramble.

“Is he a zombie?” Taj asks brightly, visualising Ben 10 fighting off the son-of-God.

“Do we all come back to life after we die?” Grace asks worriedly.

“No darling, once you’re dead, you’re dead,” I sigh.

I now realise the folly of being an atheist.

Parents who are believers can console their children with heaven. Or paradise. Or nirvana.

I only have Foxtel.

“Who wants to watch SpongeBob SquarePants!” I holler, in a desperate bid to drown out the kids’ wailing.

Aside from the absence of religion, the other great thing about Boxing Day is that you don’t have to open godforsaken gifts, vacuum-packed as tightly as a – well, you know the rest.

(Which reminds me of that old joke: Jesus wasn’t crucified. He was putting together a piece of Ikea furniture.)

Who else has RSI from opening boxes, lovingly packed by Fisher Price?

Forget the ETS – what about the waste generated by the superfluous plastic, cardboard and wiring surrounding even the tiniest toy?

Best of all, on Boxing Day there’s none of the foot-in-mouth disease that characterises Christmas.

We don’t see our relatives that often these days.

To cope with the awkward silences, we drink too much.

Many a long Christmas lunch has ended with “I never liked you anyway” or “Thank God it’s only once a year”.

As lovely as the turkey, pork or ham is, it’s always nicer as leftovers the next day.

Happy Boxing Day!