monster sarcasm rally

I opened my Christmas package from my parents this morning. My dad must have done most of the Christmas shopping this year, because there was very little of the stupid-crap-I-don't-want-and-don't-need that my mother usually selects for me. I spoke to them on the phone for a while. My dad didn't slam down the phone in disgust and my mother didn't cry.

This afternoon I stopped by to visit the relatives. Everybody was uncharacteristically pleasant. My cousins both spoke to me. My grandmother only repeated herself about forty times. My aunt didn't ask a single insult-veiled-as-a-question. The worst incident of the hour I spent with them involved my cousin's baby. He smiled and giggled at me. I got down on my knees and approached him, whereupon he immediately burst into tears and ran away. He stood in the middle of the living room bawling at the top of his lungs for several minutes. All in all, it was an uneventful event.

Came home to make my Christmas lasagna. English asked if he could help, so I sent him to 7-Eleven with Beandog. Now he's in the living room playing the guitar. Hot Guy is in the kitchen making mango chutney — from scratch, of course. Beandog and the Dog Whose Name Means Marijuana are asleep at my feet. The Stinkey Monkey must be off molesting an innocent couch cushion somewhere.

Merry Christmas one and all!