Dangerspouse Rides Again

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Dec. 28, 2004 - 1:08 p.m.

So I Married A Pedophile


I know I've mentioned before (like, twice a week since I was 4) that I'm a Christmas junkie. The crusty, kid-hating, bile-spewing exterior gets swept aside in December (well, except for the kid hating) as I wrap myself in a Christmas Spirit chador. I have eggnog breath 24/7, grow a full beard of luxurient white back hair, and wear red, fur trimmed suits everywhere. I'd keep midgets as toy making slaves if New Jersey had any midgets (which we don't. It's not a discrimination thing - they're usually mistaken for the giant rats NJ is famous for, and so seen as a prey species. Good thing too, if you ask me. They're terrible drivers, what with frantically windmilling their stubby arms trying to navigate even a 5 degree turn, and taking 15 - 20 attempts sometimes before sucessfully lobbing that coin waaaaay up into the collection basket at toll booths. Good riddance to tiny garbage, says I).

So yeah, for an athiest I go all out on Christmas. Even Nativity Scenes (I like the sheep). Now I went to all this effort even when I was Dangersingle, but it's so much more fun now that I'm married. I don't have to worry about post-gifting sexual rejection (usually).

However, this year....

NewWifey(tm) missed Christmas.

She was stranded for a couple of days in Arkansas when ice storms across the Midwest clamped a lid on all domestic and international flights (unless you were a bin Laden, in which case a special State Department military chopper airlifted you to your Christmas party.). After two days holed up in a roadside motel/fireworks stand with her father and no change of clothes, she'd had enough. Podunk Airways informed her that there was still no ETA for any any of their planes to get off the ground, so she decided to rent a car and drive though the pelting ice from Arkansas to North Carolina, drop her dad off there, then shoot another 12 hours up 95 to Dangerspouse.
By Christmas.

When NewWifey(tm) first called to inform me of her intentions, I had high hopes that she'd make it. When she gets it into her mind to do something, no matter how ill-advised (like packing an 89 year old pensioner into a rental car for a treck across god's country in a Santa-stopping blizzard, for instance), it would take a Depleted Uranium round to the skull to make her give up. Then she told me that the only car the rental place had left was a Kia.

And with that, Christmas at Dangerhouse was officially doomed.

On Christmas Eve NewWifey(tm) called at 2am (just before I left for work) to tell me that she hadn't gone over 35 mph for the past 15 hours, only just then crossing the eastern edge of Tennessee. The ice deluge was finally subsiding, but even at an increased pace she wouldn't reach Charlotte for some hours despite pedalling for all she was worth. There was a slight chance that once she dropped dad and the rental skateboard off, she'd get right into her SUV and begin the 12 hour trek up the Atlantic coast to New Jersey. But....

She didn't.

She pulled in to her sister's drive late on Christmas Eve, fell face first onto the sofa, woke briefly during the kids' unwrapathon at 5am, then crawled back on the sofa for another 10 hour nap. At 4pm she finally staggered into the bathroom to shower (that's one great smelling sofa now I bet), had dinner (candy canes and Port wine) and got talked into attending some cow bell ringing concert at her sister's hick church. One of her kids was lead Quasimodo and would have been crushed, crushed if Autie Spouse didn't attend. At least according to his mom. (Turns out the kid was barely able to rouse himself before the conductor dropped the baton on the first piece. I opined to NewWifey(tm), rather wittily I thought, "Maybe he has the Clapper." But she said no. The combination of Italian rum balls and stolen gulps of 34 proof Port just took a toll on his 8 year old frame. I don't think he would have noticed if his own mom had blown off attending and shot down to the dog track again instead.)

The clan got back around midnight and NewWifey(tm) immediately assumed her place on the divan.

At 7 the next morning she waved goodbye to the sleeping sibling and started the loooong drive. Again.

She arrived after 2 nap breaks, 5 Thermos' of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, and a quick detour at South of the Border to cram as many M-80's as the Escape could hold (NewWifey(tm)'s a nut for ordinance) at Dangerhouse at 8pm.

Just in time for me to give her a peck on the cheek, mutter "Merry Christmas", and go to bed.

Not even a cheap feel.

She understood, of course. I had to be back at work at 3am, and staying up til 8 to greet her at the door was a pretty big sacrifice as it was. Besides - she was right behind me, crawling under the blanket and snoring without even bothering to take off her clothes. I wish she had showered first, but....

So anyway, we decided to celebrate Christmas on Monday the 27th this year. It turned out to be a lot of fun too, and to cap it off...it snowed! As much as I hate the White Plague, I'm one of those saps who always says, "Yeah, but I do love a White Christmas." The losers who celebrated Santa on the 25th had a grey, rainy, Tiny Tim on crutches before Scrooge's epiphany Christmas. We had a Hallmark Card.

I finally got to make the splendid holiday dinner I'd been planning; a standing rib roast, baby Yukon potatoes simmered in duck fat, and classic creamed spinach. It may seem staid, or even boring, to you, but when you eat a meal like that on holiday plates, with a nice bottle of wine and looking down the hall at a twinkling tree, you know why they ARE classics. It was perfect. (Oh - and for you oenophiles - I dipped into my paradis cellar and decanted a 1980 Freemark Abbey "Cabernet Bosche" for the repast. Very nice, although somewhat tart. '80 was a very cool summer in CA, and this bottle reflected the meteoroligical reports.)

After dinner...PRESENTS!!

Yes, the only remaining reason for even observing the holiday. At least, that's the impression I got from all the commercials I had to read on-air for 9 solids weeks before Christmas.

But I do love it. I wallow in it, in fact. It's been "the Joy of Getting" for me since I was a kid. As usual, I began salivating uncontrolably the moment I saw my monogrammed Powerpuff Girl stocking (with Buttercup's face overlooking the top) bulging with pregnant lumps.

Woo hoo, score!!!

Here's what I hauled in:

* Two Fairly Oddparents "Book Sitter" character bookmarks (one Wanda, one Cosmo).

* Two books of Fairly Oddparents temporary tattoos (almost whittled down to one already).

* The Fairly Oddparents board game by Milton-Bradly ("ages 6 and up")

* A SpongeBob Squarepants Playstation-2 controller (with Turbo Button!)

* "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas" game for PS-2.

* A SpongeBob Squarepants throw blanket to keep my tootsies warm while playing Grand Theft Auto.

* Fairly Oddparents seat covers for the Mighty WRX!! (Well, she bought a bolt of F.O. cloth and promised me she'd make whatever I wanted from it. I chose seat covers.)

* A Macallan 12 Year Old Single Malt Scotch gift set with commemorative tumblers.

It all looked something like this:



NewWifey(tm) obviously thinks she married a 10 year old boy. With a drinking problem.

And she couldn't be happier.....

Oh, and what glittering treasures did I leave wrapped for her under the tree?


As usual.

You may recall that since starting this diary I have gifted her with: A Rigid 10" Compound Miter Saw, a Rigid 13" Reciprocating Saw, a DeWalt Table Saw w/ Stand, a Porter-Cable Fixed/Plunge Combo Router, a full Dremel setup, Black and Decker Orbital Jigsaw, a Makita 18-amp Cordless Drill, and a selection of hand tools from Seat Wrenches to a Post Holer.

This year she got a Craftsman 16-inch Scroll Saw.

I think I married a 40 year old man.

Who's butt crack I don't mind looking at when he's doing plumbing.

Of course, I had to fill her stocking also - and she has one of those novelty 4-foot long ones that she demands be stocked to the brim every year. And it was, with various chocolates, cd's, both "Kill Bill" movies (her favorite - I think she projects herself into it as the hero, in her dreams) and a vibrating seat cover pad (so I can be relieved of Massage Duty after she's finished her latest construction site marathon).

And naturally afterwards there was, as hissandtell would say, "snogging". Because as I always say, just because Christmas comes but once a year doesn't mean that you have to.

I hope you had as much fun as I did, kids. Even if you did celebrate Christmas on the wrong day this year. Suckahs.

Now if you'll excuse me, a certain pedophile wife wearing nothing but a Fir swag is beckoning with a bottle of 12 year old Scotch.

Ho Ho Ho!


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