AllllLLlright. I'm still here.

Nag naggy nag.

So it was Christmas. Honestly, I have been holding out because I want you all to savour the horrible, horrible, horrible, horrid, unspeakable, vile, horrible, offensive, wonderful new 4th installment of the annual Traditional Ugly Christmas pants that I got for Neil (Click here to see the past three pairs). Truly, there have never been worse pants ever made. Whoever is responsible needs to be found out and crowned the Evil Pants-Master of Christmas. They are the sum of our nightmares, in fact I'm pretty sure they are responsible for world hunger AND Nancy Grace's personality. The worst thing is that they were the last ones. This means that several other people also bought the same ones.. possibly as serious gifts for people... or maybe someone saw them and thought, "OoOoooH... This print is going to work perfectly for hiding that extra holiday weight I've put on!" Or perhaps someone bought them all as a Holiday kindness and burned them. WELL. They missed a pair. HehehEHHEheheheh!

This is the fourth year running that I have searched far and wide to find the most offensive roadie pants on the planet. Every year, I feel that I've outdone myself and then every year- Eureka!! I find worse. This year, it was like Rudolph shone his glorious spot-bat-light on them in the ugly pants paradise store. I left the place clutching my plastic bag to my heart while giggling like a maniac. Oh I am a HORRIBLE GENIUS!!!!!

The thing is... he hasn't gotten them yet. Our family is having our late Christmas tomorrow morning and I decided to have him wait until then. I just know he's bubbling over inside with foreboding willies anticipation.

But the very best thing about this wonderful Christmas tradition is later in the year when I see a stranger at a gas station, mustache wafting in the breeze, scenting the air all around with beef jerky and red bull, wearing the very same pants that I got for Neil. It just makes my whole year. I suppose I'll never know if anyone else has last year's identical lime green and red Portugal underpants that I bought him to match his generic beerpants... But one must always hold out hope.

Just look at the love for me in his eyes last Christmas! Everyone loves Portugal Underpants! Especially Scottish Men like my Neily. I thought they would be so dashing under his kilt! He's so lucky to get to live with me and all of my magical holiday ideas.

I'll post a picture of the wonderful moment tomorrow, so you'll have to wait until then to see them. I just know that you will probably not even leave your computers. You are just dying for your eyes to take them in and imprint onto your brain they way that they have imprinted onto mine.

Dear Oozing, Gum-Chewing Eyelids of Mine,

Your timing couldn't be more exemplary: Halloween! What a wonderful time to have conjunctivitis. It's very festive to go around seeing the world in a cloudy haze. You can all go ahead and turn off your expensive fog machines, now (unless you have one of those cool ones that also makes maniacal laughing sounds... BWaHahAHHaaA! You leave that bad boy on ALL YEAR, you hear me?). All you have to do is simply touch your eyeball to my eyeball and watch the thin string of slime that connects us in conjunctive matrimony as it stretches between our mutual gaze- and then in a few short hours, you'll get the very same, all natural visual effect. I will be starting a pink eye selling stand at the end of my driveway later this afternoon, when all the kids are walking home from school. Or maybe I'll hand out pink eye instead of Halloween treats. Who knows? Heaven knows, I'm full of money saving ideas these days.

What was really fun, though, was when I took 3 kids to the dentist yesterday, not fully realizing that I actually looked like someone had lubricated my eyeballs in vanilla pudding (HA. You'll never eat pudding again. This is great for your diet). They were fine when I left, I swear- perhaps a titch itchy but that can be easily blamed on the kitten (like most things that go wrong in my life. Damn you, kitten, for messing with my taxes!!). By the time I arrived, I looked like a viral monkey.


Now whenever I want to bat my eyelashes at the imaginary pool boy or a Canadian celebrity, such as Rick Mercer, I'll have to put on some kind of germ proof barrier, or wear one of those ducky yellow suits that Dustin Hoffman wore in Outbreak. Then maybe a hole will be accidentally punctured in the suit, leaving everyone vulnerable, as I lean over the hospital bed in despair as Rene Russo dies. I hope you're happy, Conjunctivitis. I hope you're reeeeeal happy.

Love Michelle.