...that I SUCK at wrapping presents of any sort. Even those expensive gift bags cannot save me from the gift looking like a hippo sat on it and then a three-legged bulldog with advanced cataracts applied the tape.
...that, in fact, I really don't much like baking cookies.
...that my obsessive need to scream "Merry F-ING Christmas, You Stupid Domps!" gets worse with each year of my advancing age. Next year, I may actually lose control and do this in public.
...that the blissful time of our holy advent (B'hai, may the joy of Festivus ring in all nations of the world) actually has the same effect as smoking crack on the brains of young boys who live in East Texus. Rufus especially has been in a manic stage of holiday overdrive ever since we cut out his Joseph beard early last week.
...that achieving some sort of nirvana-like balance between (1) perpetuating the bird-flu-like Xmas Fever and (2) turning into a stark-raving- autocratic-finger-wagging-lecture-giving--coal-in-your-stocking-threatening-bossy-ass-MOTHER-FROM-HELL is actually impossible. Soon I must either give into the wild side or get out my jackboots.
Yo Mama's nee-jerk reaction is that Fatty, you ARE, Yo Mama's daughter. Remember when it used 2 B fun to decorate that tree? Days gone by ... no wunder high thinkin people like yo unkle in ft. worth think it tis the season when people git DEPRESSED. It ain's lonely-ness that drives us mamas 2 it - is nuthin more than all the STUFF that WE have 2 do.
ReplyDeleteI B con-tem-platin this mess more as I pak the car - 1 more time - to drive down the turnpike to celebrate this blessed event.
Yo Mama B glad when January do cum, foot fixin or no foot fixin.