The Christmas Present

Usually it’s a new piece of furniture. Or dishes.  Something for the house.  Instead of buying each other big gifts, lately we’ve been combining and getting a “married” gift.

This year, the present arrived early.  If I turn my head, I can watch it snore.  Right now, it’s lying full out on it’s back, all four paws in the air, in what looks like a highly uncomfortable position. I think  only an Olympic gymnast can accomplish that contortion…on a really good day.  It’s also surrounded by wadded up gym socks.  Looks like The Christmas Present discovered the laundry basket.  $100 worth of toys that squeak, bounce, tug, or claim to be good for dental hygiene are strewn all over the house.  What does The Christmas Present want?  Dirty socks.

Throw the ball.  The Christmas Present will race after it, and bring back…a nice stick.  Look mom, this was FREE!  Let’s get some more of these, okay??

I have to admit, I get a gleeful thrill when I see my wife’s slipper levitating into the living room.  When one of my Franco Sarto heels floats by in the kitchen I’m not quite as happy.  You have to be careful choosing joint Christmas presents.  One that snores and defecates can change the harmony of shared ownership in a way that a sofa never will.

YOUR Christmas present stole my shoes!  Well…YOUR Christmas present shredded an entire roll of toilet paper because SOMEONE forgot to close the door.  MY present needs it’s dinner.  Well MY present needs a walk.  Your present had a walk.  Well my present needs another walk.

Oooooooo…look honey…my present is cocking his little head, isn’t that adorable?Pause for joint Ooooing.  Did you know MY present has potty trained himself?  Nu-Unh, that was MY present that potty trained himself.

Or – here’s my favorite – YOUR present loves me best.

And oh my, let the present choose where to site on his own?   Adult pouting has not been seen on this scale since Kim Jong Il thought Bush was paying too much attention to Iraq.  One of us is overjoyed.   The other has a finger itching toward the button of a nuclear missile.

With children involved, the name of the present had to go into full on peace negotiations.  Our present has four names.

Last night, OUR Christmas present had a tummy ache.  One of us programmed paramedics to speed dial, while the other gently laid him on our bed.  Our present snoozled away his tummy ache and we held hands and watched him breathe.

It’s the best Christmas ever.

Copyright © 2009. The Literary Horse. All rights reserved.

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