Christmas was very congenial and brotherly lovely this year, although I missed not being with my biological family. We'll rectify that situation on New Year's Eve. That's the night we traditionally gather together to evict our rental tenants. End of the month, you know. Pay up or hit the road, Eunice. Eggnog? Hark, the merriment!
Oh, to hum a little traveling music while we fling underwear out the bedroom windows at the frosty curb, as the countdown commences upon 2006.
Then, as in past revelries, at the stroke of midnight, we drop the Little Mommy Nap N Play Crib onto the lawn. Happy New Year, everybody!Concerning the holiday season as a whole, if I had to choose a single pleasure amongst our Christmas celebrations it would be this one because I have a bit:
Escorting Donna to hear the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra perform Handel's "Messiah."
I'll be the first to proclaim the music was majestic and inspirational. I'd never take that away from her. She was awash with delight.
But, give me Carrot Top's "Messiah." That's righteous and zany with a trunk full of schtick props.
And we'd all leave the theatre in blessed reverence, stifling snorts amid giggles, cherishing visions of Carrot, the miraculous Son of Rip Taylor, prancing in our heads. Fa la la la la!
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