Howdy Ho


Guys, I’m worried about Christmas this year, and not just because we may have to draw straws to see who has to sleep in the Sex Attic.

I’m worried because this year, in accordance with the (in-)laws of married couples everywhere, Adam and I will spend Christmas with my family instead of his, because last year it was his instead of mine and while this itself is awesome, “my family” will really only be half my family because my stupid brother refuses to drive 12 hours through ice and snow to visit his favorite sister for the holidays (I assume it’s because he doesn’t love me enough or finds the way I fold my sheets repugnant, but he claims it’s because he  “Doesn’t have enough vacation days.” Likely story.)

Direct your hate mail here.

So, in addition to being down 1 brother (also, incidentally my ONLY brother, sorry to interrupt but just thought you should know that tidbit of information, it’s an important factor to take into account when you compose your hate mail. Also he’s a Cancer.), my younger sister has informed me that her husband would like to camp in our backyard.

I really can’t get into this right now so I’ll just transcribe the conversation :

Claire: Do you have a backyard?

Me: Yeah, why?

Claire: Oh, Because Daryl wants to camp in it.

Me: Camp in it?

Claire: Yeah

Me: Like…in a tent?

Claire: Yeah.

Me: At Christmas?

Claire: Yeah


Claire: Yeah

Me: Camp? In a tent? At Christmas? Outside? IN WINTER? WITH BEARS?

Claire: Yeah. I know. He’s pretty set on it though.

So. Add to THAT whole situation the fact that my younger sister Mawney is MISSING.

Well, she’s not missing missing, I mean, we know where she is.

She’s in Thailand.

But she will still be in Thailand for Christmas. This means (if you’ve been paying any attention at all to these deranged rambling) that when we’re all here, she won’t be.

In fact, her very absence serves to increase the odds that I will end up in the Sex Attic! And then, with me trapped in a windowless cell, my conniving younger sister Hilary will finally have her way with my husband the way she’s been meaning to for years!

(In case you don’t believe me about that last bit, here’s a picture of Hilary crying at my wedding because she was beginning to realize that her chance had passed (OR HAD IT?):


So, although I will miss my brother and continue to be perplexed about my icicle-humping brother-in-law, Mawney’s absence will hit home particularly hard because… wait for it…she has a special birthmark.

That sounded creepy.

Maybe I should just show you a photo.  (Wow, it’s not sounding any less creepy yet hey?).

This is her birthmark,


A fairly standard normal, everyday birthmark on her upper arm, right?


THIS is her birthmark at Christmastime, when we all come together as a family to celebrate, in a mature manner, the season of joy, light and peace on earth.



Now, if you do not know who (or what) Mr. Hankey is, just take a quick gander and think of the first thing that pops into your head.


He is exactly what he looks like and you do not need to know anything beyond that.

I urge you not to google him. Just continue reading under the blessed illusion that I am a lady of good breeding, sturdy undercarriage (?) and sound moral character.

(Do not research this any further, I beseech you. Do not go looking for information on Mr. Hankey. Definitely don’t go to YouTube and listen to the Mr, Hankey song. DO. NOT.)

So. Anyways. If you haven’t been distracted by a singing, dancing piece of feces, the score stands at: No brother, My very own frostbitten #Occupy movement in the backyard, No Mawney and thus-THUS!- no Mr. Hankey.

It’s a big letdown.

I don’t think it would be exaggerating to say that this is the highlight of the holiday season. Every year when the sharpies came out and Mr. Hankey appears like magic on my baby sister’s bicep it feels like a miracle- a Christmas miracle!

God bless us! Every one!

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