Christmas Memories 2006
My first attempt at smoking a turkey turning out excellent.
All the other fixin's being equally tasty.
The happy faces of friends and family who thoroughly enjoyed the meal.
Having adequate supplies of Alka-seltzer, Maalox and Charmin.
The symphonic snore-a-palooza afterwards.
Discovering one of the side dishes still in the microwave a day after this feast. Don't let the AMA, the CDC or your local health department tell you canned corn, that has sat out for 24 hours after being heated, is bad for you. We have yet to feel the urge to purge.
Of course, you probably shouldn’t try this on your own unless you’re a retired crash test dummy or you stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night.
Being thrilled at getting toy cars, even if I am 50 years old.
Knowing my wife won’t mind me showing off these adult toys.
Watching the dog unwrap his present with absolutely no confusion between the wrapping and the actual toy.
Marveling at the amount of stuffing that the dog pulls out of this toy.
Filling up this same miniature pooch with a little too much smoked turkey, only later to have him get into his pre-heaving dance. It’s a modification of The Worm, slightly understated, but with a robust ending.
Said pooch and I being right by the backdoor when this begins.
Feeling sorry for the little fellow when he stops just past the backdoor mat to blow chunks on the deck.
Feeling disgusted when the varmint starts to not only sniff, but lick, this despicable mess. Two or three times.
His thought bubble saying, "Uh, Daddy, I could save you some trouble here. Who knows? It might stay down the second time."
Getting the "don't you dare" glare when starting a color commentary about the incident for my wife.
Creating a monster out of one of our guests at the dessert bar: Frank and fudge.
Wishing I could get one of those “special” lamps from, "A Christmas Story" for my father.
Knowing my mother would have the exact same reaction as the wife in the movie.
Not caring. Once a gift is given, it's the recepient's problem.
Getting Merry Christmas calls from my children who couldn’t be with us.
Being threatened with bodily harm by mom while posing for pictures.
Rutabaga butter. It's the new, "cheese," when taking pictures. Try saying it fast three times.
Thinking how, later on, those threats might come to fruition if my face somehow distorts all by itself and ruins one of those holiday pictures.
Explaining to mom that because I’m dumber than my younger sister, it's up to me to act this way.
Being threatened again with liturgical-weight candlestick holders if I didn't cease and desist immediately. It seems there's a vast difference in the meaning of "pose" between my generation and my parent’s.
These candlestick holders were a gift to my mother from my dear, loving wife. This is absolute proof of a conspiracy to keep me from having too much fun. I left home to get out from under my mother's thumb only to marry the woman who has now teamed up with her. Be good for goodness sake? As if I had a choice.
Anticipating that moment when Santa puts down his list and I can go back to being bad.
© 2006 Michael Wicinski
All the other fixin's being equally tasty.
The happy faces of friends and family who thoroughly enjoyed the meal.
Having adequate supplies of Alka-seltzer, Maalox and Charmin.
The symphonic snore-a-palooza afterwards.
Discovering one of the side dishes still in the microwave a day after this feast. Don't let the AMA, the CDC or your local health department tell you canned corn, that has sat out for 24 hours after being heated, is bad for you. We have yet to feel the urge to purge.
Of course, you probably shouldn’t try this on your own unless you’re a retired crash test dummy or you stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night.
Being thrilled at getting toy cars, even if I am 50 years old.
Knowing my wife won’t mind me showing off these adult toys.
Watching the dog unwrap his present with absolutely no confusion between the wrapping and the actual toy.
Marveling at the amount of stuffing that the dog pulls out of this toy.
Filling up this same miniature pooch with a little too much smoked turkey, only later to have him get into his pre-heaving dance. It’s a modification of The Worm, slightly understated, but with a robust ending.
Said pooch and I being right by the backdoor when this begins.
Feeling sorry for the little fellow when he stops just past the backdoor mat to blow chunks on the deck.
Feeling disgusted when the varmint starts to not only sniff, but lick, this despicable mess. Two or three times.
His thought bubble saying, "Uh, Daddy, I could save you some trouble here. Who knows? It might stay down the second time."
Getting the "don't you dare" glare when starting a color commentary about the incident for my wife.
Creating a monster out of one of our guests at the dessert bar: Frank and fudge.
Wishing I could get one of those “special” lamps from, "A Christmas Story" for my father.
Knowing my mother would have the exact same reaction as the wife in the movie.
Not caring. Once a gift is given, it's the recepient's problem.
Getting Merry Christmas calls from my children who couldn’t be with us.
Being threatened with bodily harm by mom while posing for pictures.
Rutabaga butter. It's the new, "cheese," when taking pictures. Try saying it fast three times.
Thinking how, later on, those threats might come to fruition if my face somehow distorts all by itself and ruins one of those holiday pictures.
Explaining to mom that because I’m dumber than my younger sister, it's up to me to act this way.
Being threatened again with liturgical-weight candlestick holders if I didn't cease and desist immediately. It seems there's a vast difference in the meaning of "pose" between my generation and my parent’s.
These candlestick holders were a gift to my mother from my dear, loving wife. This is absolute proof of a conspiracy to keep me from having too much fun. I left home to get out from under my mother's thumb only to marry the woman who has now teamed up with her. Be good for goodness sake? As if I had a choice.
Anticipating that moment when Santa puts down his list and I can go back to being bad.
© 2006 Michael Wicinski
posted by Michael Wicinski at 5:50 AM
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