Ralphie doesn’t live here (TG!) so no worries about pink bunny pajamas and definitely no snow in the forecast our holiday season (sunny and a balmy 70°f!) but I do have A Christmas Story to tell.
I dreaded Christmas this year. It really hasn’t been a season to be jolly or merry or any other –y that comes to mind. I didn’t drag out the tree and my great grandma’s bubbler lights stayed safely packed away with the rest of the ornaments, tinsel and accumulated holiday trash junk cheer. My freezer isn’t big enough to hold a couple of Cornish hens let alone a duck, ham or turkey which meant Christmas dinner wasn’t going to be whipped up. Not that it mattered considering the strike and all. It looked like hamburgers and mac-n-cheese were on the menu… considering The Goose’s penchant for pork and the rest of his fancy grub you can imagine how THAT announcement went over. Apparently he thought the strike only applied to T-day and large numbers of people.
After my first cup of coffee I asked my scruffed-up ball of feathers if he was going to give me my present. I am told to get it myself! What? Well aren’t we Mr. Sunshine. The thing is, he bought my present two weeks ago, put it in a gift bag and tossed it on the dining room table. I refused to look in the bag. I refused to touch the bag. I was going to tell him to take the bag and shove it up his – ahem, but I didn’t. So I finally opened the bag and took my iPod out and commenced to playing with it while I waited for our new furniture to be delivered.
That’s right. I said furniture. Delivered. On Christmas day.
It was supposed to be delivered around noon. Maybe we could have gone out and done something if that had actually happened. You know how it is though, delivery men and the cable guy… NEVER ON TIME! This will be the cause of World War 3 and/or the Zombie Apocalypse. Someone will get pissed off ‘cause the cable guy didn’t show up so they push a button or the delivery driver takes too long and a virus goes spoils.
My furniture finally arrived at 8:00pm.
In the interim, the guy who is supposed to be blessing me with golden eggs in my twilight years (I’m not there yet but still) has whined about not getting a present, even though he told me he was okay with it. Actually, he told me he didn’t want a present but you can’t argue with someone haunking over the top of you. I’m spending too much time on the computer but I can only watch so many re-runs of darts. My dog pukes all over the place but The Goose swears he didn’t give her anything. I found a popcorn bag stashed in the trash though so I’m guessing he shared. The cat added a massive hairball to the up-chuck Olympics which means I’m standing in the middle of the villa waving a bottle of 409 around screaming, WTF!? Tension escalates because all I hear is “I’m hungry” from a 40-year-old man acting like a 10-year-old on a road trip saying “are we there yet”. My head is spinning and the pea soup is forming. I was never so glad to hear the doorbell ring even though the two guys they sent weren’t big enough to lift a garbage bag let alone the furniture. I’m pretty sure that one of them left with a hernia along with the signed-off paperwork.
I did get some lovely, COMFORTABLE new furniture though. And we went out for Chinese food after.