Merry Mumple Christmas

Well, for all intents and porpoises, this Christmas has shaped up to be as wonderful as each and every preceding holiday.

As my father used to sing:

'Tis the season to be figh-ting
Fa La La La La La La La Laaaaaaaa.

It's not really Christmas unless my brother is being a self-centered jerk (this year was my sister's turn to bear the brunt of it--and she, unfortunately, isn't ME, and therefore, will probably stew and fret instead of lambasting him with guilt in January); unless the Gator is looking for a fight; unless my mother's relatives (my aunt & grandmother) are acting *odd* and paranoid; unless Kevin and I are stressing about everyone else and I am hiding in the basement with two packs of cigarettes and a pot of coffee wishing it were all over.

So far, Kevin keeps finding me in the basement and rousting me out and our stress levels aren't quite that high yet (see above where it's my sister's turn to bear the brunt).

We have also shortened the previously mentioned refrain of song (God I miss my dad!) to just the Fas and Las for the sake of family joke, and ease in inserting it into any situation in which the word "figh-ting", even if sung, would be construed as 'faghtin' words'.

So far, my biggest wish is for a nap (there's no rest of the wicked, even if there are gifts a-plenty.)

So, from Mumpleland to you:

Merry *%^$#@@!! Christmas!