A Cheesy, Wheezy Christmas

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is OH SO TIRED. She got 2 hours of sleep last night. Whether she needed it or not. Specifically, the hours of 4:30 to 6:34 a.m. were occupied by a clandestine rendezvous between HM and The Sandman. Don't worry about HH. He doesn't know. He was snoozing soundly during that time.

It all started with My-Sister-The-Mayor's-Wife's Christmas Eve party. We were told it began at 6:30. That's it. My mom said she was told it was from 6:30 to 8:30. She left at 8:30. The Hillbilly family, on the other hand, did not. We got home at 10:25. Which means the young'uns were not in bed with sugarplums dancing in their heads at a reasonable hour. Oh, and the #1 son must have consumed a keg of Pepsi at that late hour. I tucked The Pony into his bed at 10:35. #1 was supposed to go right to bed. He made a show of it, dressing for bed and climbing in to watch a Myth Busters DVD. That's how he usually falls asleep.

I in my kerchief sat up for a while, reading, while HH in his cap staggered off to bed, having drank over half a bottle of wine at The Mayor's house. Around 1:15, I had some business to attend to. At 1:55, I went upstairs, puttered about the kitchen for a minute, and turned off #1's
TV. I then adjusted my kerchief and went to bed. I was pooped. But then a naggling thought bounced into my brain. The Pony. Was he OK in his bed? He usually sleeps on the couch, but for two nights he slept in his bed. I'd heard a thump earlier. What if he had fallen out of bed? I got up to check on him. And found the #1 son with his TV on again, getting out of bed! BUSTED! "Where are YOU going?" He stammered a bit. "I...I had to go to the bathroom." I stood in the hall. "Go ahead." I peeped in on The Pony, who was perfectly fine. And I stood sentry so that #1 could not go ogle the presents. Then I had to sit in the living room on guard for 45 minutes so he did not slip down to the basement tree and squeeze the gifts.

When I thought it was safe to go to bed, I found out that was not the same as going to sleep. HH flipped and flopped like a flounder on a hot bed of coals. He bounced me and jounced me like I was on the non-jumping half of a trampoline. Then he spouted some ice-cold, virus-riddled exhaled breath at me through his breather. Oh, and did I mention that every time I almost dropped off to sleep, HH cut the cheese at the level of a gold medal Olympic cheese-cutting champion? Pheewwww! HH was like one of those AirWick thingies that shoot out fragrance every 9 to 32 minutes. Only the air came out of his butt, and did not smell OH SO FRESH. I thought I was going to asphyxiate. How I wished for the icy gust of contaminated breath to disperse that cheese vapor! But no. That cheese fog settled over me like fireworks smoke on a humid July evening. The last time I looked at the clock, it read 4:30. I couldn't look very often. Those gaseous cheese fumes made my eyes tear up.

The next thing I knew, the #1 son was nagging me awake at 6:34. And now I am very tired, and have to deal with two presents that do not work. OK, one is not so surprising, having come from The Devil's Playground. The other, however, came from Hammacher Schlemmer, at a pretty penny, too, I might add. Thank the Gummi Mary it was purchased with a credit card.

I WILL get satisfaction, by cracky! Customer service reps, beware!