(Also known as “Doctor Who and the The Robe of Doom”)
For those of you lucky enough to be on our Christmas card list (“lucky” meaning brave enough to divulge your personal address to us), you know that I delight in sending funny picture greeting cards along with a quite long-winded year-end letter. Who could forget such classics as “Silent Night, Dark Knight” featuring The Peeshwank dressed up as Batman, or “We Sith You a Merry Christmas” with our little guy painted up to look like Darth Maul?
This year the plague has struck down our little family, thankyouverymuchPeeshwank, so our cards never came to fruition and along with feeling like an elephant is sitting on my chest and a pack of porcupines have taken up residence in my throat, I’m also feeling guilt. You see, the shelves of our library are covered in pictures of all our friends and family and thoughtfully inscribed cards from loved ones near and far. Yet none of you have gotten reciprocal correspondence from us, which I’m sure has completely ruined any hopes you had of enjoying your Christmas vacation. Probably.
Instead of taking time to write our Christmas letter and pose for a sweet little family portrait in front of the fireplace, we’ve spent the last week laying in our pajamas, doing Nyquil jello shots, and watching a Harry Potter/Doctor Who marathon. Isn’t that the best way to get over an illness? Oh, and then there’s the noises our lungs are making when we try to sleep. Joe sounds like he’s drowning and when I exhale, my lungs whistle. We’re basically like Jack and Rose after the Titanic sank, minus the crappy Celine Dion song.
Of course there was also the night I was so hopped up on Nyquil and hot tea that I felt the need to search the protective covenants set forth by our POA to see if there was anything in it that would prevent me from painting our front door to look like the TARDIS… at one in the morning. I guess I could’ve gotten the Christmas cards done then, but alas… that’s not where my head was at the time.
Throughout this illness the only time The Peeshwank has put on anything besides his Hugh Hefner red robe was when I caved and agreed to leave the house to go to the nearest fast food joint and pick up burgers and fries. I’ll be honest, remember when The Proclaimers announced that they would walk 500 miles and they would walk 500 more just to be the men who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door? Well, that’s how I was feeling about a Diet Coke. Alas, as soon as we returned home, he stripped off his clothes and was immediately back in what we have now deemed “The Robe of Doom”. I suspect it roams around the house while we’re sleeping and moves things around. It also ate the rest of the cookies we made for Santa, but that’s okay. I don’t need anymore sweets this holiday season. If you don’t hear from us again in the next few days, call the authorities. The Robe probably has taken all of us hostage.
So, here’s to wishing all of you a happy rest of Christmas (remember Christmas isn’t over until Epiphany on the 6th all ye party-poopers who take down the trees on the 26th).
And so, with all that being said, I give you…
Now, pardon me, I’m about to be gettin’ jiggy with the Lysol and bleach up in here.
(That’s definitely the Nyquil talking. I’m normally not a jiggy person.)