It could be worse

My husband prances around the house naked doing his “woo-woo” dance when he wants to entice me into the bedroom. It mainly puts me in the mood to close all the curtains and hope that the neighbors don’t call the police. That would be kind of hard to explain in the annual Christmas letter.

I normally write my Christmas cards Thanksgiving weekend. I thought it only fair to reward my readers by giving you some insight into what will end up on the Christmas letter cutting room floor this year.

Dear friends and family:

I learned how to use a fire extinguisher on Valentine’s Day. I tried to broil buttered French bread to go with a romantic dinner. Flames came shooting out of the oven when I opened the door. No real damage done, but the fire department labeled me a polyunsaturated pyromaniac.

My mom came to visit from Phoenix last spring. We had a great time until we got thrown out of a bar in downtown Charleston. I tried to tell the bouncer that those weren’t my panties on the bar. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a thong. My mom, I can’t vouch for.

Took a trip out to McCormick to check out a site for a book I’m writing. Fell into an icy stream while panning for gold, then I went to interview the desk sergeant at the town police station. He nearly frisked me as I crab-walked out the door. “No, sir, I don’t have a concealed weapon, just a huge wet spot on my butt.”

Decided to save lot rental fees on our motor home, and park it in my daughter’s backyard. Found her old septic tank when a back wheel crashed through the concrete lid. The tow truck driver nearly had an aneurysm laughing at the sight.

Kids came over for a 4th of July cookout. No singed eyebrows so I thought we were home free. Then the dog got his line wrapped around the grill and pulled it over, setting fire to the lawn. Fire department labeled it a canine conflagration.

Went to Myrtle Beach for a writers’ conference. I apparently got the haunted hotel room. Turns out my ghost was a klutzy narcoleptic. He bumped into the bedside table, then climbed into bed with me and began breathing in my ear. I told him not to hog the covers.

This weekend we’re going to deep fry our first turkey. The fire department is standing by for the possibility of a flammable fowl. Meanwhile, I’m working off the effects of a super wedgie. I finally tried the thong for my woo-woo dance.

Hope you find much to be thankful for, and have a fire-free holiday season!


8 thoughts on “It could be worse

  1. Funny, my husband has that same dance. You know, it was cute once upon a time…not so much anymore…

    Happy Thanksgiving, Karla!

  2. The very first time we — two big city bumpkins – tried to use the fireplace in our new suburban townhouse, smoke filled the room and a swarm of bees descended upon us. We remedied the situation by grabbing the fire extinguisher from the kitchen, effectively filling the living room with even more noxious gas. So I know from fire-related incidents. Fortunately, we Jews don’t send out Christmas letters – we share our news by opening the window and yelling it out to our relatives in South Florida. Have a happy holiday Karla! Joan

  3. OMG…I read your Twitter description and decided to investigate as I’m also “at an age”. Read your Christmas letter. We do ones like that too and have for years. I’m so glad I found you. Read my letters and you’ll see we should be friends. BTW…we go to Myrtle too so we must live near each other.

    • So glad you found the website. My family and friends seem to enjoy my Christmas letters each year, and I didn’t even get to the ninja convention.

  4. I can’t believe you’re not going to put these corkers in your “round robin” Christmas letter. I wish people would send me entertaining ones instead of bragging about how their darling offspring can get 100% in their exams while simultaneously playing the viola.

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