Christmas Letters ~ 2008

Aunt Ruth has done it again, she’s topped herself with the Christmas letter.  Her divorced son is now living in an apartment.  He doesn’t see his sons much at all, considering the distance.

I want to know how this guy feels about Aunt Ruth broadcasting his business to friends and family.  Is he suicidal after reading this public outing of his private affairs?

Sad to say, she mentions that they’re not traveling much either, not sure they can with their health issues.  I was not happy to hear this, not at all.  Ruth is a pistol & I hate to see her taken down.

* * * * *

My husband is on his way to the post office with our Christmas letter, as I write this.  Here are the highlights:

Merry Christmas to all our family & friends, near & far, as we send a wish your way for health & happiness in 2009. As for an update on 2008, I don’t remember much.

We moved 2-1/2 years ago & the adjustment is complete. My husband mows a lot now, which makes him happy. He’s mastered the art of pool maintenance, but loves his John Deere tractor more. The only thing that’s missing is a winter blizzard, so he can get maximum usage out of his snow blower. It’s sad, really, watching him bring it up to the garage like a little boy with a dream. We need a white Christmas.

Said husband met President Bush in October. It was very exciting & the Secret Service do give silly names to everything, just like in the movies. Unfortunately, there was practically no one in NJ to tell because everyone here is a Democrat & even the Republicans were tired of W.  In the picture you can see he is crushing the President’s hand. He doesn’t know his own strength.

The son (22) graduated from university with honors . . . I got pulled over on the way to the graduation ceremonies, both lights & siren, so exciting! The husband opened all tuition bills & made 25 expensive trips to Sam’s Club for pasta & toiletries over four years.  The son went to Miami twice on vacation but surprisingly did not take the husband along.

This “adult child” thing is far more complicated than I ever realized. I had no idea he was actually going to move away from home.

Daughter (11) is in her second year of homeschooling. It’s clear she sees herself as the teacher, we are students. Another inch and she will be as tall as I am, but she loves high heels so sometimes she’s already got me beat. She is never moving away from home.

She’s as sweet as could be, just like her father, except when she’s imitating a teenager. Then she’s just like me.

* * * * *

So, in the spirit of Christmas, I had a colonoscopy this morning.  It’s not nearly as bad as is presumed, I remember nothing other than the fact that I haven’t eaten in almost 48 hours now.  My head is throbbing, when you’d think it would be my ass.

It wasn’t even like there was all that much in my colon in the first place, which was so incredibly disappointing.  Then the fact that I thought I might be able to watch it all on a TV screen, but instead fell asleep immediately, adds up to very little excitement.

The people most upset about it were my pseudo in-laws, who thought it was incredibly insensitive of me to have such a thing scheduled the day after their Christmas party (which meant I could not eat at said party).  Of course they caged it to sound as if they were only concerned about my happiness, but I know better.

Here I am the one having something described as “a snake” put up my ass and they’re upset that I couldn’t  munch on their proffered cookies.  I kind of wonder if the doctor really even did it, since my ass doesn’t hurt at all.  I always figured if some dude put a d*ck up there it would be hideous.  Well, I still believe that. 

I’m also very disappointed that the doctor did not tell me how attractive my ass was looking under the glow of that spotlight.  I’d hoped my husband would write some kind of a message on there for me, but we were in a rush this morning, considering the 7 a.m. start time.

If you’re thinking the fun is over, you’re wrong.  I still can’t eat.  By tomorrow morning we’ll be moving in on 60 hours food-free (unless you count a mountain of orange popsicles and a vat of Jell-O).  I’m scheduled to be at the hospital at 6 a.m. for a stapling procedure.

I’ll let you know how it goes.