Merry Cringemas!

At Wind Crest, they be keepin' it real. You feel me?

"Nothing to see here, folks. Just a pair of snowmies

taking the gingerbread man of color in for questioning ha ha."

I assume that when Valentine's Day comes along some bored lady in a hairnet will staple a Cupid over the snowmies. Something to look forward to, I guess.

Mom no longer needs to look forward to anything, except piss. And shit. Here she is with her gingerbread puppy, Bailey. 

"Please don't put me in your blog. But make fun of the lady, go ahead."

"Are you happy now, Mom?"

Mom nodded. "Yes. Of course, I know she's not a pandora for everything, but..." Mom sighed.

"Let's not rush to open Panacea's Box, Mom. Aww, Come here, Bailey." I picked up the puppy. "Hey, buddy!"

"Stop that!" Mom cried.

"What?"

"She's not a buddy. Don't call her buddy!"

"Right. Sorry to misgender your dog, Mom. I'll keep the microaggressions focused on you. Speaking of which, I saw Dad at Piatti's the other day. It's closing in a few weeks. They were very busy, and once we finished our last mediocre bites of pasta, the server came over and asked if Dad could please leave? They had other tips... er, guests to serve. Dad was properly flummoxed. He harrumphed and screwed in his monocle. What is the meaning of this? Ex-traordinary! I never! But I had some pudding for dessert all the same, just to draw it out and really stick it to the working man."

"You had pudding with your father?" Mom said. "You never have dessert when you eat out with me."

"That's because I love Dad lots. You? Not so much. And I love pudding. Speaking of which, let's go get some holiday grub."

We went to the dining area where we met Chris and Toots. As we sat down to eat some very soft food, a lady with a walker dressed like a flapper gone to ruin came to our table. She had just heavily sanitized her hands, rubbing them over and over. She reeked of sanitizer. She shared a few unsolicited pleasantries with the table, and then rolled away.

"I didn't think we'd get a visit from Sanitizer Claus," I said. "I guess she was checking on who's been naughty and vaxxed." I looked around the table. Even the crickets were too old to chirr. Or saw. Or whatever they do. "Mm? Mm? Nothing?"

An ambulance wailed. EMTs burst into the dining hall and spirited away some poor fella who had collapsed in his minestrone.

Mom shook her head. "Happens every day," she said. "Someone down the hall from me died just the other day. Sort of creepy."

Chris laughed loudly.

"SHHH!" Mom said fiercely. "People are dying. Shh!"

"Right," I said. "No one likes a noisy death."

We repaired to Mom's apartment for the main portion of the festivities. I received a beautiful garment I will cherish for a lifetime. Or for a few minutes, whichever comes first.

"Ladies? You know what they say about a big red nose. Because I don't."

Our jolly Christmas kicked into high gear as Bailey got some nose butter from Santa, which made his nose smell delicious. Then it was Chris's turn. He opened his gift and held up pajamas that seemed a little big for him. Actually, they seemed more suited for Tacko Fall. As he held them up, the pant legs rolled across the floor and into the next room.

"Mom, there's no way these will fit me," Chris said. "Did you keep the receipt, at least?"

"No. But they'll fit you fine. Just wash them and they'll shrink."

"I'd have to wash them in a black hole," Chris said. "No, I can't wear these. Why would you get me pajamas this big?"

"Maybe you can grow into them?" I said. "You're still growing, aren't you?"

"I really wish you wouldn't do this, Mom. It's a waste. And now I can't return them."

"They're fine," Mom said, applying nose butter to Bailey. The puppy squirmed so much that the nose butter got everywhere except the li'l buddy's nose. "Stop complaining."

"Yes," Toots said. "Just take the gift, Dad, and say thanks. Let's move on."

"Fine," Chris said. He took up his next gift. Opening the box, he held up a sweater that seemed a reasonable size. He folded it quietly, placed it by his chair, patted it once, and said: "Thanks."

"Wow, that was Sofia Coppola-level acting," I said. "Bravo."

We all laughed with rich hilarity, except for Mom and Bailey.

"SHH!" she said. "SHH! Do you hear the ambulance? People are trying to die."

"Right, right, sorry."

I took the nose butter from Mom, and applied it to the nose on my sweater. It was our best Christmas ever. Now, let's never talk about it ever again.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, READER!! MAY THE NEW YEAR BRING US EVERYTHING WE WANT AND WITH EXTRA NOSE BUTTER!!!