Hallelujah everybody say "Cheese!" Merry Christmas from the Fam-uh-lee-ee.


Just a few highlights from our family gathering over Christmas — think of us as “classy trashy,” k?
***
Cooking in the kitchen with my mother, my grandmother, my sis-in-law, and my daughter:
GiGi (my mom): Susanne, do you need a rubber?
Susanne (14 yrs): Uhhhh
GiGi swears she meant spatula.  Spatula/rubber, easily confused, right?
***
5:00 a.m., pitch dark, in the Quacker at Nowheresville:
Eric: I just took some Sudafed.  Do you want some?
Pamela: Yes, thanks.
(Eric hands Pamela 4 little pills, which Pamela examines by the light of the iPhone screen before consuming)
Pamela: Honey, are these pink?
Eric: They’re not red?
Pamela: Nooooooo….
Eric:  What are the pink pills in the medicine bag?
Pamela: Well, TWO of them are a full dosage of ‘women’s overnight laxative.”
Eric: SHIT!
Pamela: Yeah, for real. At least you won’t be stopped up on one end. 
And he wasn’t; he carried a roll of TP to good use all day.  But he seemed a little emotional to me.
***
Before family pictures on Christmas Eve:
Pamela: Let me put some moisturizer on you, Honey.
(Eric presents his face obediently)
Eric:  It burns.
Pamela: You always say that.  Hello, sun screen.
Eric: No, it burns, really.  A lot more than usual.
Pamela (laughing):  Oh no, I forgot to wash the Icy Hot off my hands before I put on your moisturizer.
Eric spends the next 5 minutes scrubbing his face, which was pink and shiny for the pictures, anyway.
***
As my brother, a Lt. Cnl. in the Marines, was making stuffed jalapenos:
Brother: Eric, I don’t want to make this awkward or anything, but when I’m done making these poppers, can you remind me not to scratch my balls?
Eric: (long pause) Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without you, Colonel.
In the interest of brevity, I have limited “the Colonel” stories to one.  Trust me, he’s fodder for a whole Encyclopedia Britanica. 
***
The perfect song for us; enjoy:
[youtube Y1nqMG3swOc]
And a happy flippin’ New Year, y’all!
Pamelot
p.s. At least we didn’t shoot skeet while drinking Bourbon Hot Toddies this year.  And nobody gave or received a Hooter’s t-shirt.  By past standards, this Christmas was practically boring.

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