"Maybe they want carrots," I say.
"Come in," Posh says, and so they do.
Just what I was hoping: to be feeding a bunch of kids who have more money than I do.
Isn't Christmas the longest day? A great day, sure, but it lasts 72 hours. The last straw for me on Christmas -- the moment my body spasms and my spleen takes over my liver -- is when the lovely and patient older daughter puts on "Mamma Mia!," a movie so bad it makes me want to declare war on Italy.
"It's so much worse than I thought," Posh says, holding her ears.
"Being a parent?" I ask.
" 'Mamma Mia!' " she screams.
Most ironic Christmas moment:
My buddy Tim received a cutting tool from my buddy Catharine. It was one of those specialized scissors designed to cut through the insidious heavy plastic packaging we all hate. Designed by sadists, the same people who gave us child-proof caps.
Ironically, the scissors are packaged in exactly that same hard-to-open plastic they are designed to cut. In trying to open the package, Tim cuts himself. Merry Christmas.
Most beautiful Christmas moment:
In the glow of the tree, the little guy sets up the Nativity scene. He puts the little Jesus in the manger, of course, then sets up a long single-file line of well-wishers to visit the baby. Born in L.A., the 6-year-old just assumes that there is a long line for every activity: buying a stamp, renting a video, jumping on a chairlift. So why should visiting baby Jesus be any different?
"And on this day was born a savior . . . OK, NEXT!!!"
In the meantime, the tree survived. When we put our Christmas tree up three weeks ago, it slumped like your Uncle Gordy. Rather than take everything off and buy a better stand -- a 10-hour procedure -- Posh and I just decided to start a pool on when exactly it would topple over.
Well, the tree never fell -- a Christmas miracle.
My theory is that as time went by, the tree lost water and its center of gravity dropped, making it more stable. With each passing day, the likelihood of it collapsing got less and less.
At least, that's my theory. Most of my theories have proved to be wrong in the past -- "global cooling," for instance, or my insistence that Leno would never last.
So the fact that I might've been correct on the Christmas tree gives me great hope for the coming year. Good things are ahead, I'm pretty sure.
At least, that's my latest theory. And, hey, I'm on a roll.
MAN OF THE HOUSE
A holiday night's dream? Well, mostly
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