The Party's Over...

Monday, Dec. 13, 2004 09:37

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All girls of a certain age, along with the requisite copy of �Are You There God? It�s Me, Margaret�, should receive lessons in the art of the other type of plumbing � the porcelain variety.

Any house with two bathrooms should have two plungers, because slim as the odds are that both toilets would overflow at exactly the same time�

If you�re going to wait until an hour before the party to RSVP, you don�t really need to bother.

If you�re going to call for directions, you should probably show up or we might worry. (Not until 2am, but still�)

Please do your holiday gift exchange somewhere other than my party, unless you plan on giving me something, too. (And that bottle of Spumante we�ve been passing back and forth for the last three years does not count.)

If you haven�t spoken to me in seven years without a hint of a reason why, don�t expect me to greet you warmly and treat you as though nothing has changed. I will, but you shouldn�t expect it.

Sweet as you are to do it, if I ask you to bring a veggie tray, please don�t bring one as large as my kitchen table�and a basket of crackers with hot bacon dip�and a turkey roaster full of rumake which will make me have to search the house for an extension cord at the last minute. But you are sweet. I mean it.

If I don�t call you by name, it�s only because I only see you once a year and I can�t be bothered to remember it.

Cousin Herb, please refrain from having your 3-year-old twin granddaughters play tag on my stairs. It�s all fun until someone starts to bleed.

Cousin Herb, let�s also please discourage them from making that squealing noise only dogs can hear.

If a party starts at 2pm and you show up at 9pm, don�t expect there to be a lot of great food choices.

My next home will be a ranch-style with no stairs. None.

I really must find a way to start working out. My knees are begging me.

Some people are pigs. Really. If this is the way they treat the home of company, I�d hate to see how they treat their own homes.

Next year I�m seriously thinking about having the whole thing catered. It can�t possibly be more expensive.

I work with some incredibly immature people. Please. It�s a big house. If you don�t want to speak to someone, just move to another room. Easy peasy.

We have the best next-door neighbors. Really. They are so better than yours. (Do yours let you borrow chairs and tables, plus bring you two cases of imported beer and a present? I didn�t think so!)

Hubband works with the coolest people who chipped in generously and gave him a Visa Gift Card that was big enough to pay for the sub. (And the reason he didn�t break into tears and hugs was because he didn�t have his glasses on when he was reading it, so he had no idea what it was. Oh, and he was more than a little drunk.)

I have the best friends who will get me beers and make sure I sit down every now and then and worry that I am going to have a stroke just because my face matches my purple shirt.

I love Christmas.



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