It’s now Christmas Eve and I still have not sent out Christmas cards. Okay, I have no excuse–I do ecards. Don’t make fun of me–contrary to popular opinion, they are NOT free. They are cute (I love the animated cards) and no trees are killed to make them. So there! I have a bit more grocery shopping to do and revisions to finish, so here, hopefully for your enjoyment, is another Blog of Christmas Past….
And a parrot in a pear tree….
Ooops! Now, where was I? Oh, yeah…Mom had a roll of TP under the tree and Dad was trying to explain a box of poop to Homeland Security. Well, not exactly.But he was a repeat offender. As a matter of fact, he chose one victim twice simply because she swore he’d never fool her again.
The target was Cathy, a friend of mine from high school. After Poopapalooza 1, she tried and tried to find a way to exact her revenge–but a whoopee cushion in his truck just didn’t quite equal Dad’s prank. When she told him she’d never fall for it again, well, that was like throwing down the gauntlet. He looked for a way to trick her into opening the box for a second time, and she unwittingly gave him the solution when she commented on a local souvenir–an outhouse ashtray. (Yep, we’re about as redneck as you can get without being Jeff Foxworthy’s blood relative.)
I was seven months pregnant with Collin at the time and had been visiting Cathy, her then-husband, Ralph, and their son Damien (no connection to the character in “The Omen”). Dad sent the ashtray to Cathy with a message I was to relate: he knew she liked it and was sending it as a peace offering. She was touched–until she opened the little outhouse and saw the tiny turd, standing straight up in the tiny potty.
(Not exactly like the one he gave Cathy, but close enough.)
“I’m gonna kill that old man!” Cathy shrieked. (She didn’t know it couldn’t be done without a silver bullet.)
I’ve got a lot of Christmases to cover, so please bear with me. Twelve days may not be enough.