The yearly visit to my parents' house for Christmas started out as it always does, with the standard hugs and "Hi, how are you?" greetings. About 15 minutes later, though, the visit hooked a sudden left turn into the Pain Zone.
"So," my sister asks, "do you still go to church?"
They probably hadn't put her up to it, but I could tell that my parents were intensely interested in the answer. At that moment, I knew two things. Number one, I was under no circumstances going to admit that I had not, in fact, been attending mass on a regular (or even an irregular) basis. And number two, I wouldn't need to admit anything because I could feel the answer writ large across my face.
I languished for an eternity (about 3 seconds,) then my father, ever the diplomat, put a stop to the witch hunt before it could really get going. Thanks, Dad.
The visit continued on about as smoothly as could be expected. All the usual events occurred, despite falling under the shadow of the church-going issue.
"We were going to go to the 4 o' clock mass, as usual," he says quietly, when we have a moment away from the rest of the family. "And you're welcome to join us." Thanks, Dad.
I went to the evening mass with the rest of the family and hid in the back with the choir, hoping that nobody would notice the pile of shame and discomfort standing up against the back wall.
"Choir sounded good tonight," he says later. Thanks, Dad.
After that yearly visit was done with, the church-going issue evaporated, leaving the gifts exchanged as the only witnesses to the visit. I don't remember what was waiting for me under the tree that Christmas, but I do know that the best present I got that year didn't come in gift wrap.
Thanks, Dad.
Anon 25 Dec 2003
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| Well, it's not really harrowing, but this year, my three-year-old niece was sitting with us in church on Christmas Eve. My menopausal mother handed her the envelope for the offering basket. She immediately started fanning herself with it and with a heavy sigh turned to me and said, "I'm having a hot flash Uncle Jimmy."
It was all I could do to keep it together.
She's starting - or should I say finishing - early.
the mighty jimbo 28 Dec 2003
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Xmas at my boyfriend's, now husband, mother's house, a few months into our courtship. His niece, a precocious and intelligent 9 year old, was there and very happy to see Uncle Mike again. She asked immediately, when are you going to get married so that you are my aunt?
But that wasn't the harrowing holiday moment.
After gifts but before dinner, Mike went to lie down for a nap. I joined him 15 minutes later as the time zone change hit me. I crawled into bed with him, in the bedroom in the basement of his mother's house, and snuggled in for a nap. He woke up and decided he wanted some holiday nookie. I looked at him like he was insane - his whole family was just upstairs, they'd hear us and besides, his niece was probably going to burst through that door in 10 minutes to tell us dinner is ready. Of course, he insisted that 10 minutes was all he needed and with a giggle, I relented. Fully naked, we quietly went about our Xmas cheer when sure enough, there was a knock on the door from his niece. Both of us realized instantly that she was not going to wait to open that door and we would be lucky if she refrained from jumping on the bed or pulling the covers off of our naked bodies. Within that split second moment, we resumed a nap-like position, pulling the covers up to completely cover ourselves. I turned to the wall, burying my face in the pillow to stifle my laughter as his niece bounced into the room, urging us to wake up and come to dinner. My beloved gave an Oscar-worthy performance, feigning deep sleep before "waking up" and telling her we'd be right up. After she left, I hit him with a pillow.
opus13 28 Dec 2003
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| I had returned home for the holidays. A group of my high school friends and I traveled into the Flats area of Cleveland, Ohio for a little holiday fun. It so happened that it was the night before my birthday. Come December 28, 1998, I would be 24.
I stayed under control until we went into Shooter's On the Water. While we were there, the time passed midnight, and I started demanding birthday shots from my pals. Too many of them acquiesced.
I found myself making out with the 21-year old friend of my best girlfriend's brother at a noisy nightclub. We ground away until the club closed at 2:00 and then I found myself in my car in the parking lot making out with the same kid. We were so engrossed in our "activity" that I didn't notice my friend Joe was standing outside the car waiting for me to come up for air so he could drive us home.
After getting over the embarrassment of being seen making out (by my former longtime crush, no less), we headed out of Cleveland. Somewhere along I-90 eastbound I started feeling extremely sick. It wasn't long before I had to frantically roll down the window (manual crank, too) and proceeded to vomit all over the side of my car as we traveled 65 mph on the freeway. My makeout partner, who was cringing in the backseat, had puke all over his window.
Joe pulled off at the next exit and I fumbled my way out of the car and fell onto my knees at the side of the road, where I feebly scraped together some snow and ate it. While I was kneeling in a haze on the shoulder, a police car drove up and stopped behind my Tempo. The officer got out and shone his flashlight on me, and asked, if I was OK. I managed to squeak out a "Yes." After a brief check of my car, he drove away. I stumbled back into the car and we continued.
We stopped at a gas station. I snuck into the bushes and vomited. We dropped off my erstwhile makout partner and I puked behind a tree in his yard. Joe dropped me off at my house and I crawled up to my room. I ended up lying on the tiles in my bathroom after puking again, passing out, and waking up a few hours later freezing cold and totally stiff.
When the day of my birthday finally rolled around, I stayed in bed all. My now sister-in-law came over and upon greeting me, a feeble ball of nausea curled in bed, announced gleefully, "Your mom said you have a hangover!"
Indeed.
That afternoon I had my parents take me to my friend's place where my car had been left. I drove home like a maniac and tried to clean it before they got home from shopping and observed the puke splatter all over the right side. I managed to get my car mostly back to normal and was resting innocently in my room when they got home.
I recovered sufficiently to eat my birthday cake that evening.
Sarah 30 Dec 2003
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This is my sweet old 81-year-old Mom's story... about 20 years ago, she and Dad were at their rich snooty friends' mansion for an apres-Christmas cocktail party. Mom (who looked exactly like Betty White, "Rose" of the Golden Girls) had a wee bit too much sherry, and when it was time to leave, she wandered into the front hall looking for their shoes. There were dozens of shoes and boots; she had a sudden inspiration and put on some oversize galoshes, grabbed a man's cane and donned a bowler hat from the hat rack, and decided to re-enter the room as Charlie Chaplin.
She came in, hat over her eyes, penguin-walking and twirling the cane, then unexpectedly tripped and took down the family's giant, stately Christmas tree adorned with heirloom ornaments.
It's a wonder my dad didn't kill her on the spot.
Creatrix 31 Dec 2003
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| I'm clueless.
That's where it starts.
It's not too harrowing, but for my ego, it was at the time.
I made the mistake of assuming that my boyfriend wouldn't get me anything stupendous because that's just not him. But,
WHAM!
he gets me this fabulous gift which I had placed on my list for my parents. So, as my family sat down to unwrap gifts Christmas Eve this year... I decided to tell my mom about it. (P.S. My mom is bipolar.) She freaked out about it not even knowing what the gift was, and my sister smacked me in the arm. (She's not bipolar, just mean.)
They did end up getting me something similar, but thanks to dad, all was well (because he smacked mom- kidding!). I got to exchange it. However, later on, another gift was doubled up on. This time I smacked myself-
WHAM!
Next year, it's separate lists for everyone.
Sybil 31 Dec 2003
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