We were also able to celebrate properly this year! Allowing some exceptions for new parenting responsibilities (R.I.P. Christmas Eve trip to Reflex™ in Watford…)
So I’m thankful for that. But not as thankful as I am for this:
“The One With a Bit of Tradition”
It was great to be round the Friends™ apartment for Thanksgiving. Monica ran out of space to cook, and had to go use Ross’s oven. Mate, that’s across the street! Think that food will be cold by the time you get it up all those stairs again.
I would have offered my own oven for her to cook, but we were busy preparing a Christmas dinner for my wife’s buddies. And I’m not sure jetting it over in a Concorde™ would be great for the environment.
They were trying to name all the US states. Err, the Friends™ were, not my wife’s pals. We don’t care so much for American Geography. Ross got a bit obsessed with it, not even eating till he did it. Dude, how can you stand that on a day like this?
On the day itself we had to wait all of thirty extra minutes for Christmas™ lunch at my mother-in-laws. And it was killing me. One thing the baby and I have in common is our moods completely go to shit when we’re hungry.
Now I’m not saying babies ARE like dogs. (Happy to say that I am like a dog…) But you know what else are disasters when they’re hungry? Dogs. And it turns out Phoebe has been keeping one at Monica’s! I think there’s a pretty decent case to be made that Phoebe is the worst flatmate out of this lot.
Also, what the hell kind of name is Clunkers?? Sounds more like a Chicken or a Duck (may they rest in peace).
Chandler hates dogs, and to be fair, I’m not a huge fan either. In my experience they’re either too big, too small, or too loud.
My brother-in-law’s got a Retriever, a breed I used to not mind so much. But seeing it next to my one year old has changed that a little. That thing could eat her WHOLE. I’m not sure cats are any better in this regard. Even now the size ratio of our cat to baby is a constant reminder of Tiger King™. (May Carol Baskin’s husband rest in peace…) But at least the cat and baby can be in the same room without a constant fear of him making a go of it.
This came to fruition over Christmas™ when we went to the park and the dog barrelled over, I was a bit too slow to pick her up, and she got a big old face lick.
OK, maybe not too serious, and she took it in her stride, but man. I do not need that level of fear in my life.
Real Live Sitcom Moment:
If you’ve been reading since the beginning (and if not, why not?) You’ll know that a few years ago I ended Christmas™ by drunkenly watching Bad Santa™ with my other Brother-In-Law.
The following year we attempted to start a tradition by watching the sequel but were thwarted by an ill child.
Needless to say the third attempt was trashed by the pandemic, but this year... This was gona be our year! Nothing could stop us. The curse of the Bad Santa would be broken.
Except, no. Once again, it was not to be. It’s possible no mere mortals can break this curse.
After Christmas dinner we drove to my family’s, for an evening of drinking and games. We planned it to perfection, all staying round so we could get properly Christmas-ed up. The time came to put the kids to bed so the party could REALLY start, ours going down like an angel. But, much like with our attempt to go bowling in the summer, my nephew would NOT play ball. After hours of trying we pleaded with him “will you go to bed here, so we can stay together? Or do you want to go home?”
The little sadist refused, and off they went to their own beds, my dreams of finally watching Bad Santa 2™ (and spending Christmas™ with my entire family) dashed.
Altogether now: At least no one got their head stuck in the Turkey!