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Twas The Night After Christmas

December 27, 2013

Twas The Night After Christmas

     It’s the night after Christmas and we’re knickers deep in leftovers from the big dinner. Fem Minor is hungry and wants the noodles I fix with my homemade vinaigrette, but this outrages Fem Major who, with her hard edged third world thriftiness, finds cooking again with such a full fridge just wrong.  The Fems fuss and I do a little daddy dance amongst them managing to charm, cajole and bully my way into cooking the noodles.  This leaves Fem Minor happy but Fem Major sits muttering on the sofa so, despite not being hungry, I heap myself a plate full of leftovers and eat them in front of her hoping to mollify her sense of economy.
     Did it work?  Somewhat, sort of, maybe.  There are few clear victories in a relationship.  It’s more a matter of truces, attrition and tactical retreats.  There aren’t enough words in any four languages to explain it.  All that’s certain is that the evening makes me reconsider my decision to marry a younger woman and have late life children.  In the words of the ancient sage, I’m too old for this shit.

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