Friday, November 23, 2012

Holiday Happiness!

Usually, when I write about personal and family stuff, it's... well, I'm either doing it because I'm momentarily unable to write about anything else, or because I'm trying to make some kind of point.

This is just for fun and totally pointless.  But true!

I was unable to make it up to the Frigid Northlands for National Gluttony Day, but I made a call and got passed around the whole famn damily, so at least I got to catch up.  Brother JD told me a story about something I missed, so I thought I'd share.

Our uncle does advertising work.  Not the fun kind, usually the "corporation to corporation" kind of marketing where you're trying to tout the objective virtues of your product while subtly indicating how conservative-yet-current and energetic-yet-responsible you are.  So it came as quite a surprise when we found out that his latest job is at Hollister.

"Well, that sounds like fun for a change," my mom said cheerfully.

"It's... not as fun as it sounds," my uncle corrected her.  Puzzled looks all around.  "Not Hollister the clothing company. Hollister the colostomy bag manufacturer."


This wasn't an awkward silence.  When my mom was an ER tech, her daily horror stories were our dinner table conversation.  Grandpa is a volunteer EMT, and all us kids went on a couple calls with him as teens.  I even did in-home care for a geriatric in the neighborhood over a summer.

No, this was a silence of planning.

Brother A moved first:  "Well, that sounds like a shitty job," in his classic deadpan.

Dad went next:  "Yeah, I wouldn't want to be left holding that bag."

"Well," Mom said, "You've always been good at handling whatever comes down the pipe."

"Oh, yeah," her sister said, "He just picked it up and ran with it."

Grandpa closed:  "As long as everything comes out OK."

By the time JD finished the hurricane of shitty puns, I'd almost rolled out of my chair.  "Please," I said, "Please tell me this was at the dinner table."

"Where else?"

"Yes!"  Fist-pump!

So that's my family, in our lighter moments:  straight to the poop jokes at the earliest opportunity.  We're a classy lot, I tells ya.

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