Disclaimer; Please do not read any further if you are easily offended.
Ok, you’ve been warned.
Today, in its proximity to the wonderful and pressure infused Christian holiday known as “C”hristmas, is day 9 on the “C”ountdown to my precious holiday. MY holiday…16 blisshful days off.
Day 9 was a “C” word day.
Today was brought to me by the letter “C”, and the words “Clusterfuck” and “Crotch” (known in less refined circles as the very, very bad lady-part “C” word).
Today started out like any day. I was fortunate to enough to see a “C”ool pal at a meeting who is going to be a guest at my “C”hristmas party, and to have the ear of a “C”reative, “C”aring, “C”olleague.
Somewhere along the way, I had an interaction that frustrated me beyond belief with a “C”rotch, adding pressure to the single-parent-pot that simmers almost to boiling at “C”hristmas.
My Jewish pal said to me, “You know, I feel sorry for “C”hristians at “C”hristmas. There’s a lot of pressure.”
Despite my efforts to keep things simple, my “C”ar has had different ideas, “C”osting me a pretty penny this week. My “C”at is also feeling the pinch.
After a very, very frustrating day, I came home, put some music on, hugged my kid and caught up on the kiddo’s news. I puttered with the laundry and taking the garbage out, and then settled in to “C”ook dinner. Not before settling into something “C”omfortable, which involved removing my bra and letting the “C”oconuts sway.
Since it was a “C” day, “C”hicken sounded like a great option (and I’d taken it out of the freezer this morning – was that an omen?). At the stove, bopping to Blake Shelton, and letting the day drip off, I began cooking our butter chicken.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Mom, somebody’s at the door.”
“Ugh. Don’t answer it, I’m not expecting anyone.” I “C”ontinued to sip my wine and sing along at the top of my lungs to Mr. Shelton…”Who are you when I’m not around? When the door is locked and the shades are down?…..”
Knock, knock, knock.
My kiddo looks and sees someone tapping on the door. From the kitchen, we couldn’t make out who was gracing us with thier presence in the trickster light of dusk.
In my ‘relaxing clothes”, coconuts swinging, I walk to the door to find my “C”ute neighbour. Now he knows who I am when the door is locked and the shades are down. He and his wife are acquaintances, and he’d come to ask a question.
I, in my nightie, and he in his cap, settled in for a long winter’s gab……and the butter on high, simmered on the stove top, forgotten by the “C”ook.
After our visit, I went back to the kitchen to find a room full of smoke, and a burned pan. We turned the fan on, opened the patio door and the front door, “C”ountbalancing the constant reek of my neighbours marijuana habit with burning milk fat. I dared my “C”rappy neighbout to “C”omplain with my hand on my nightied hip, coconuts swaying, and wine in hand.
“C”razy keeps the rif-raf away ladies.
I transferred the burnt pan to another burner, filled it with water, and started to heat it up again in an effort to loosen the charred butter.
POOF! The burner ignites with fire. Yes, yes, ’tis the season of light’.
Blake continued crooning, “…the more I drink, I’m the world’s greatest lover and a dancin’ machine…”, as I danced around the kitchen sprinkling baking soda and calling to Jesus “C”hrist. The smoke alarm chimed in, and my kiddo used our Christmas themed dish”C”loth to wave the smoke away.
Supper salvaged, “C”ontent with our butter “C”hicken, we settled in to watch the news. My cat, finding his moment to shine, “C”asually sauntered over to the “C”hristmas tree, engaging me in eye “C”ontact all the way.
Never taking his eyes from mine, the “C”at takes a swipe at an ornament, with a look on his face that says, “Hey “C”rotch, whatcha gonna do about it? I need some attention over here!” The ornament flies through the air, and lands in front of me on the “C”offee table.
With very little “C”oaxing, the “C”at comes to me, and “C”urls up on my lap, taking his rightful place, and “C”laiming the attention he’s been waiting for all day. All three of us are “C”ontent and “C”uddly, ready for the nightly news.
Well, wouldn’t you know it? The first story is about “C”hristmas. How wonderful!
It’s a safety message informing us that with the advent of “C”hristmas comes an increased incidence of fire in the home. The scene flashes to a pan igniting on the stove.
My son and I look at one another and burst out laughing.
So, despite the natural “C”lusterfuck that is life, and increased pressures of the season, remember to “C”huckle. Oh yah, change the batteries in your smoke detector, and stock up on “C”abernet, “C”hardonnay and “C”hianti. Be sure to book a “C”uddle or two.
Day 9 of the “C”hristmas countdown was brought to you by the letter “C”, and the word of the day definitely wasn’t “C”ookie.