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Friday, December 25, 2009

The Morning After Christmas

Twas the morning after Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a guest. The stockings were flung by the rocking chair because their time of use was already vamoose.

The relatives were snuggled all warm in my bed, while visions of nocturnal activities danced in my head. And mama in her new robe and I in my old, had just woken up for a large breakfast I'm told.

When down in the basement there rose such a rattle, I slunk from my chair to see which kind of cattle. Away to the staircase I drug my feet fast, leaned through the doorway and listened as time passed.

The crush of wrappings, ribbons and bows gave the look of confetti far below, when what to my dreading eyes should appear, but an in law of mama and eight more near.

With a little old grandpa not lively nor quick, I knew in a moment I must be in hell. More rabid than cujo, up they came, I whispered and cursed them by name.

"Not Peter, not Skeeter. Not Pauly and Talen. Not Cody, not Cindy. Not Donald and Tatem. Up the top of the stairs. To the rest of the house. Wish they would go away, go away, go away all."

As zombies before fresh brains do grumble, when they see a clean kitchen, moan and mumble, so off to the showers they fly super fast with arms full of my towels and my new loofah too.

And then in a blinking I heard from above, the stomping and jumping of Dr. Love. As I turn from the crowd amassed about, down the stairs more came with a shout.

She was dressed all in plaid, from bedraggled head to foot pad, and her clothes were all twisted from playing the slut. A tag from a toy still stuck on his back, and he looked like a user still looking for smack.

Their eyes--how they wrinkled. Their cheeks how they sagged. Their skin was all blotchy their noses all runny. Their chapped little mouths drawn up in a smirk, and the beard on his chin was as filthy as dirt. A morning cigar already stuck in his teeth and thoughts of punching him out circled my head with relief. She had a guilty face and a fat little belly, which peaked out when she stretched like chunky jelly.

The kids were chubby and plump, a right sorry old family, and I clenched my teeth tight to keep the thoughts under stump. A wink at my wife and nod of the head soon gave me the knowledge there was much more to dread.

She spoke not a word but went straight to her work, and filled all the cups then served with a jerk. And laying a finger on the side of his hand and giving a look before turning away from the jerk.

She sprang into cooking to herself gave a whistle, and away the rest flew like I was a thistle. But I heard her whisper ere he was out of sight.

"It was Christmas you know, not something for every night."

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