Today, Ruby filed another report with the home office in Duluth.
This holiday season has stressed me out. My parents are impatiently waiting for the packages and cards so that they can send them before Christmas to people who are stressfully waiting for packages to send to my parents. Wouldn’t it make sense for them to spend money on gifts for themselves and cut out the Heffernans who bring the boxes back and forth? Each day, my parents' stress level jumps twofold when Unspeddy Delivery passes by.
Our household stress grows worse with each approaching day. The outside lights aren’t working. Daddy has spent hours plugging and unplugging them, to no avail, while growing more frustrated and muttering.s Swearengen words. Our neighboring Burnetts clutch their Life Alerts, ready to plead for help if my Daddy proves to be a Saul Goodman after buying a new identity.
Subsequently, he hurt his back, sanding a stubbornly stuck door. I tried to suggest, through nods, barks, and big eyes, that he should use WD40. If something can’t be fixed with that or a roll of duct tape, throw it out. Finally, he listened to the Baby Boss and used WD40 on the knob, which made the door swing open like the Gates of Hell when a New York Lawyer approached.
To add to my stress, a miniature Santa appeared looking out the kitchen window, holding a candle while dancing or having a seizure. I barked at it so much that my parents moved him to the front room; this caused it to stop dancing, further proving that somewhere in the house was a mysterious open window that sucks money into the wind daily, including what was spent on that Broke-Ass Santa.
Every day we wait for another stress ball to drop while the radio station plays the same songs continuously and tries to fool us by having different people sing: “All I Want for Christman is You?” “Christmas Baby, Please Come Home?” Why is everyone apart at Christmas? Do they use Dale Griffith’s Travel Agency and are stuck between a plane, a train, and an automobile? If you want to be with your loved one at Christmas, be like me and never leave the house, not even to poop.
I am anxiously waiting for this expensive, stress-inducing season to end so I can enjoy the short, cold New England January when everyone takes down the annoying decorations and tree, save money instead of splurging, and throw their spastic Santas in the snow.
Until then, we will have to muddle through somehow,
So have yourself a merry little Christmas Now.