What is the gig with wimins and how they can take a run-o-the-mill swillfest and turn it into an excuse to clean and decorate the whole abode thereby infusing what should be a relaxing affair with enough stress to cause a fewl to think about snorting a valium? Anybody smellin' what I'm steppin' in? Allow me to fumigate my wisdom.
I was born about 32 years ago next week. In honor of that action, my wife and I decided to have some homies from around the way - as LL use to say back in the day - at the homestead for a little heavy whores do vers and cocktails. Simple enough premise eh? Butt, much like Socrates discussing bellybutton lint with Plato, it got all out of hand.
This seemingly simple theory of people coming over turned into cleaning the house, decorating the hoose and yard with X-Mas paraphernalia, buying candles and rearranging the previously displayed signs of X-Mas cheer into a more "crowd friendly" configuration. As I'm typing this I'm being subjected to some X-Mas music that sounds like an Ethel Murman wannabe with too much testiculation - if you know what I'm sayin' - belted it out. Apparently, there were several Noels but the first one was the one you wanted to hook up with. Or at least that's what I get from this old school jam.
Back to the matter at hand. Why must you take a simple thing and complicate it so much? My friends don't give a damn how high the wreath on the front window is! I've yet to have a friend come over and complain there wasn't enough X-Mas flair around the house. I've never heard a soul utter that they've ever seen a more substantial nut cracker collection.
Look, I'm all about the X-Mas factor because of my son. Childrens are the point of all this gear. Ain't none of us A-dults still thinkin' Jolly Ole St. Nick is greasin up and slidin' down the the chimney. That being said, don't force the Holiday Spirit down the throat of friends who just want to come over to drink enough to forget how they got there. That's all we're axin'. Don't turn McDonald's into Puck's. Don't make a 6 Dollar Burger an actual 6 dollar burger.
For the record, my mom does the same thing. She'll make you werk so freakin' hard to get things "ready" for a party that, by the time the party gets there, you're ready to go to bed. If you ever mention this fact to her, she acts like you're crazy. That is if she can stop werkin' long enough to hear you bitch.
Werd to Big Burd.
P.S. I love my wife. Could you tell she was approaching when I wrote those last lines? There's kind of a "I'd like to say more but I can't" vibe to that hole paragraph huh? Image.
I'm just sayin.......
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1 comment:
The house did look nice though!
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