I should probably say something.
It has been far too long since I’ve blogged, written, knit….or shaved.
About three weeks ago I caught the flu. Then two days after that, Phillip had it. Oh, within hours this apartment became a hellish fumble for Nyquil and whiskey. (For the hot toddies, of course).
It was one of the only times in my life I actually considered having something other than a pizza delivered. Neither of us had the first lick of energy. Whatever sparks we had of life were used for going to the bathroom.
And as we all know, the flu isn’t something that just kinda runs its course in a few days with the help of a little orange juice. No, that bitch of a contagion takes forever to get rid of.
Two weeks pass, I think. It’s Christmas eve. Phillip and I have been living off hot toddies and canned chicken soup, which is pointless. Chicken soup in its beauty is truly in the making of it for the sake of healing. A lot of prayer goes into making soup for someone you love and want to heal. So, at the stage we were both at, when Phillip asked me if I would make him chicken soup I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and say, “Dude, you can go soup yourself….”
But, it was Christmas Eve and were determined to have a Christmas Dinner. So, out in the cold, misty, grey breeze we tread. Angry….pissy.
“You’re not walking fast enough,” I’d say!
“You’re walking TOO fast,” he’d scream!
“Just get us there and home,” we both wept!
Home with the fixings for meatloaf. You read this blog, that is our holiday dinner, no matter the occasion. (But, I am thinking a lot more lasagna in the future).
We crash in our respective chairs in front of the television, fall asleep in them, realize imprints of objects are now branded on our faces, then crawl to bed.
Sluggish, I say…but, I was determined to save this Christmas with our meatloaf. We had no tree, no ornaments, no candy canes, no lights, no carols, no music, no interest….Christmas had not come to our home. Christmas had become just another random Wednesday. But, if my meatloaf were a success, then I had saved Christmas.
I looked like I was auditioning for Uncle Si’s body double on “Duck Dynasty.” In my pajamas, I leaned from counter to counter, drug bowls from the cupboard, cracked eggs like a tepid old man with arthritis. I worked hard for an hour, laboring through crushed crackers and ketchup, chopped onions and a cup of milk. (It shouldn’t take 10 minutes to dice an onion). I prayed, I envisioned a “yum” from the both of us.
If you’re an excellent reader, then you can see foreshadowing coming at you like a semi truck.
The meatloaf sucked….
We just looked at each other and said, “Worst….Christmas….ever.”
“Man, this is bad. The peas rock, though.”
“Well, you wanna watch a Christmas movie?”
“I say we go classic. Gremlins.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
(Notice I didn’t mention who said what in those quotes. Either one of us could have. We think alike. That’s why we’re married.)
And we had the best time. Oh, what fun it was to laugh and see new things in the film we hadn’t noticed when were kids. While passing the roll of toilet paper between us so that we could blow our noses, we had long discussions about how the mother in the film was the ultimate ninja warrior. She took out seven gremlins in her kitchen with a juicer, a butcher knife, a microwave and a can of RAID!
Sipping on toddies and comfy in poofy socks, we longed for the days when Phoebe Cates was the ultimate “It Girl.” We questioned whether or not Billy was hot. We gleefully jumped to our feet like football fans cheering a touchdown when Polly Holiday goes flying out the window on her electric chair lift!
We were laughing again, distracted from the disaster around us. And I think in a weird little way, happy to be stuck ill with each other. (In sickness and in health, am I right?)
Our Christmas was sabotaged by gremlins. Everything went wrong, everything was off. But, sometimes that irony becomes laughable.
I think sometimes the worst Christmases are the best. Despite everything, Phillip and I hadn’t laid back and had that kind of good time in a very long while….we had the gift of laughing at our own private disaster.
Maybe it was the best Christmas ever.
P.S. We’re both really starting to get better and both nearly back to normal…if there is such a thing 🙂
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