The crank cloud has not yet lifted, and it’s heavy with a chance of rain. i’ve been so pissy that it’s in complete opposition to all that is good about the season. I’ve even desecrated the cheerfulness of “Rudoph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” It went something like this* (please look away if you are a good mother):
Toots: Mommy, why does Santa need Rudolph?
Me: Because Rudolph’s nose lights the way in the fog.
Me: It was a foggy Christmas Eve. Rudolph’s nose lets Santa see so he can steer his sleigh.
Toots: What kind of Christmas Eve was it?
Me: Foggy. FOGGY. IT WAS FOGGY.
Toots: Were they green?
Toots: The froggies. Were they green?
Me: FOGGY! It was foggy, kid! FOGGY! FOOOOOOOOOGGGGGGGYYYYY. You’ve read the story, seen the show, sang the song thousands of times. It was foggy! There were no frogs! No “r,” no “r,” no “R!” FOG! FOGGY!
Toots: Yeah, I know.
Me: Why did you keep asking then?!
Toots: You’re funny.
At this point, Toots laughs like a clueless little kid who was about to be dangled from my second floor window.
Then, The Rock made the grave mistake of questioning the voluminous amounts of popcorn I consume daily. It went like this* (please avert your eyes if you are a good wife):
The Rock, looking at the two bags of popped popcorn on the kitchen counter, one whose contents I was mainlining on the couch, the other unopened: You made TWO bags of popcorn?
(Editor’s Note: His incredulous tone was completely uncalled for and had too much incredulity for my taste.)
Me: Yes! But don’t touch it!
The Rock: Why? You’re already eating a bag.
Me: Because it hasn’t been prepared yet!
The Rock: What does that mean?
Me: I haven’t prepared it for consumption!
(Editor’s Note: “Prepared for consumption” is a complicated process that involves prodigious buttering, salting, usually re-buttering, and always re-salting, and for best results, should not be rushed or ridiculed.)
The Rock: You’ve been eating popcorn all day! Enough fiber already! It’s not sexy!
Me: You want to see unsexy? How about not having sex? THAT’S unsexy.
The Rock: Man, you’re crabby.
Me: Did you just call me flabby?
Toots (interjecting): No Mommy! He said “froggy!”
Well-played, second-floor dangler, well played.
*This isn’t as made up as I’d like it to be.