Excitedly, I gathered my wife and kids around the lit Christmas Tree and began to read.
“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.” I said.
“Daddy,” Lexy said with an annoyed look on her face.
I continued. “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St Nicholas wore clean underwear.”
The kids giggled.
My wife rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”
“The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her Louis Vuitton ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.”
“When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter…”
A loud, long fart then erupted for several seconds. CJ looked away sheepishly instantly revealing that that he was the culprit.
“Holy clatter!” I said. The kids laughed.
“Can we finish the story?” my wife said, now clearly annoyed.
I cleared my throat. “I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter—ugh, reindeer fart?”
I was now on dangerously thin ice with Diane and quickly resumed the story.
“Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the butter and threw out the trash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.”
CJ was puzzled. “How does Santa find all the homes?”
“Does he curse like you when the stupid GPS doesn’t work?” CJ asked.
“CJ, we don’t use that word,” Diane said scolding him.
She shot me a scornful look to emphasize that the bad language was my fault.
No argument there.
My gaze returned to the book. “With a livery cab driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.”
“What if Santa has to go to the bathroom?” CJ asked.
“CJ!” Lexy said in shock.
“He’s not your father; he doesn’t have to go the bathroom every 5 minutes. He holds it in.” Diane responded.
I disregarded her wisecrack and jumped right back into the story.
“More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!”
The kids joined in enthusiastically.
“On, Comet! On, Cupid! on…….”
CJ chimed in. “Ditzen!”
“CJ, it’s not Ditzen,” Lexy said matter of factly.
“Yeah, it is.”
The two of them continued to argue.
I turned to Diane. “At least he didn’t put SH in front of itzen. Then he’d really be the most famous reindeer of all.”
Before Diane erupted at both me and the kids, I attempted to fix the situation.
“Who wants to sing the 12 Days of Christmas? Deck the halls?”
Still no reaction.
“Rudolph? Jingle Bells? Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer?” I said in desperation, suddenly squeaking like a pubescent Peter Brady.
As the kids continued to ignore me and fight, Diane stepped in. “If this doesn’t stop right now, no one is getting anything for Christmas!”
The kids snapped to attention.
“I told you guys to cut it out,” I said suddenly turning serious.
She glowered at me. “That includes you, too. I’m bringing back your iPad.”
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.
Copyright © 2010, Brad Manzo