Christmas morning
My enlightened   brother in law got Peanut a set of cap pistols and a cheap feathered war bonnet now she and her 4 yr old cousin have got me holed up in my office room circling as they ride up and down the wood floors on horse sticks discharging their firearms and calling for my surrender with assorted war whoops and blood curdling cries.
I got the dog in here with me and we are attempting to send smoke signals with the Christmas cigar I got in the mail,
The stick horses these rascals ride nowadays don't come cheap as they are constructed   with the built in recordings of the  clippitty –clop and whinnies.; .
I'm not sure how long I can hold out, my pup is crossing her legs so it won't be long .
 
Its late Christmas morning ;and I have circles under my eyes
. I have been at with the little darlings since they woke me at 5:30 am  and right now  the din of their war party of  going up and down the hall is  sounding  less like the joy of  Christmas and  more like Custers crossing of  the Little Big Horn ..
Reading the Chinese instructions on  putting together the vanity set at two in the morning didn't help either

 

My Mrs. ,who cares not for the cee-gar smoke wants me to surrender it and take up religion .( the 11 am  Christmas service) 
I say nutten doing … until all sides lay down their arms and take baths to get ready  for pow –wow  service at the great  chiefs house  I ain’t budging   .
We discuss the  terms of surrender  through the knot hole in the door which serves as a speaker phone .The terms are difficult ; I have to shave, give up the cigar ,and where some cheap ass  swill of an aftershave  that will disguise its aroma and be ready in an hour and a half .
Then to make matters worse I have to also  wear a dopey Christmas ties that her myopic aunt gave me Its one of those that sport a Frosty the Snow man surrounded by  red sequins. on a red field
I am appalled . My kids have it worse .They have to wear some hideous Christmas outfit of  Mary Janes and plus fours that her aunt dreamed up from the Birmingham edition of Red book .
She in turn has to give me “quality time “ in front of the sports TV with out interruption .
We trade our  cards  like this going back and forth  through the hole.
The negotiation is tough but I seem to be getting somewhere when   I spy  through the window  glass  more of my  in-laws pulling up the driveway   and exiting their cars  with arms full of  fruit cake, ribbon boxes ,and kids with  what?  Cap guns .. 
The  situation is  now deteriorating rapidly. I holler to  my wife “abandon ship  “and disappear down the hall wearing my ill fitting pair of Christmas Scooby doo boxers that my daughter thought I needed , .
I find my fuzzy blue robe and house shoes  under a pile of torn ribbon and wrapping paper and count the seconds  until the bell at the front door rings .
 The bells rings and  go to  the door munching  the last of my  Rolaids for courage  .

 

There at the window of the  door is a collection of low stout women wearing  church helmet hats looking  look like they may  play linemen for the Packers .
 I answer the door with a loud   Ho-Ho-Ho. Hoping by some chance that my beaver breath my wife is complaining about all morning  might scare em off .
Nothing doing ,I  barely  got out the last Ho  when my body was crushed with a barrage of boxes and prickly red corsages that scourged my naked chest .
Blinded by the Lilac perfume  I am  then  pummeled into submission by a lashing  of mushy kisses and then backslapped into stupidity   by  their overweight   husbands wearing bright red suspenders and checkered pants .  .
I feel kike Ive been in a car wash
Underfoot the crowd  the kids pounced on one another l and exchanged pot shots between our  knees in a running battle around grownups  with their  cap pistols.
 My knees are  thrown by the weight of the women  by now  are doing everything humanly possible to keep from buckling   . . 
The mob then suddenly breaks and  spills past me as if there had been a call for a free lunch,.
Suddenly  I am standing all  alone  in the hall and holding on to all the ribbon  boxes while  wearing a  red smear of lipstick on my forehead .
Unable to see behind the boxes I stumble down the hall dazed  behind the crowd .
I enter the  drawing room where I am  not helped with the boxes but chided by my Mrs. For getting “fresh” with her cousin while she wipes the smear from my forehead.

 

The  act  creates a great primitive  roar of laughter, to which  I keep telling myself that Christmas comes but once a year and then watch with horror as the unwanted guests  sit  down and entertain themselves by talking loudly and putting their feet up on the furniture while draining the nut bowl of its provisions ,

 

In a few moments we go over by the tree we  exchanges gifts and while I can't  refuse their lovely offers of hardened fruit cake I get a chance to get  even with  Hi test shots of my Grappa snaps that  I have been saving for just such an occasion .

 

The snaps has them gasping with dyspepsia and pausing between their words
. Meanwhile the  ongoing range war with the little darlings and  the cap pistols continues  up and down the front stairs  with the Mrs. giving me anti- Christmas stares  should I try and stop them 
Frustrated   I  secretly declare war on the guests and plan on their hasty departure if not their demise  through their gluttony .
I do this by  offering  up portions of a local delicacy called  Vinnea sausages that are highly spiced and are known to cause hemorrhoids  if not other serious ailments in that area

 

I announce  that they are a tradition “of the house” then coyly add that everyone has good luck “ who eats them . Try  “at least  one “
The chemistry of imbibing Vinnea sausages and chasing it with Snaps has been known to clear out all but the worse couch potatoes .
Within minuets the guests were excusing themselves to the water closet and making gestures  with their hands either politely  patting  their chests or as in the case of the men outright pounding their chests  as if trying to beat back the vile gas that was destroying  their esophagus  .
Within minuets it was clearly  time to go ;and as the old kitchen radio played the strains of ” “Its Beginning to look a lot like Christmas “ our wobbly guests, despite my protests,  excused themselves ,collected their petulant children ,and staggered out the door while I shadowed their retreat  with more offers of  libation and this time  Christmas Cookies with hard icing  that “were a must” . .
We made it to church in time for  what I can only describe was a Chinese fire of dashing in and out of closets and stumbling over the Christmas wrapping paper looking for socks  .

 

 The rest of the morning was spent  repenting  for what  had happened
.I even  wore my  dopey Christmas tie like a hair shirt and doused myself with  the odious aftershave   Brad Pitt  sells by sprinkling it  into his underclothes to mask the smell of  my cigar 
The other parishioners who seemed  high on Listerine gave me a wide berth in my pew .
The Christmas message was: “Love thy neighbor
 which I am  all for….. Michael