Hangover

4, January, 2003

Story #4

R. Linda:

After spending the week before Christmas at many a Christmas party, discovering that eggnog be more rum than eggs, and that it can pack a mighty wallop the next day, AND being subject to some hideous New England practice called a 'Yankee Swap,' only to find that said Yankee Swap did not mean swap one's date, wife, grandmother, etc., for a new and hopefully better model. Still, instead of exchanging alarming gifts that no one would want and no one did and finding meself the sad recipient of most of those gifts (I use that word loosely), I did begin to look forward to Christmas ALONE.

However, a reporter at the competing newspaper felt pity upon me poor lonely soul, and invited me to her parents (gulp) for Christmas Eve dinner, followed by Midnight Mass (good thing I'm Catholic). Following mass, the opening of gifts (and I use that word in the real sense this time), followed by much frivolity and dessert (except for her, who is overly preoccupied with her weight). I went home well-fed, happy and not caring if it snowed the twenty inches they forecast in Boston.

Christmas dawned with the telephone ringing off the hook. I found it was the competing reporter inviting me to go cross-country skiing with her and her brother out in Boston Common (which is not far from where I reside). Once I disengaged myself off the ceiling, to where I clung because I had not expected to be awakened by anything with a ringing bell, I made meself presentable and was looking forward to the skiing. The invitation was given because she had a smidgen of whipped cream on her cocoa the night before and had to work it off! With nothing better to do (after all, my tree was dark, small, with not one gift under it . . . and no, no, no, those Yankee Swap gifts do not count), I decided to join them. I skied me fool head off and ended up back at her place for Christmas dinner AND as the night's entertainment.

After many a joke (thank God they are Irish Americans), I got up (not wanting to overstay me welcome) when I was informed I would be spending the night (albeit alone) in an upstairs bedroom because the predicted snowfall was in full force. It was not a good idea to venture out in it. I found meself being served hot toddies, and "she" was leaning all over me, asking me about me work. I was intoxicated with their Christmas tree (it had lights), the warmth of the fire (no peat smell), her closeness (even if it was business she was discussing), and the pleasant taste of the drink . . . which near put me to sleep.

The next day, I thanked me host and hostess, said goodbye to Grandma O'Neill and off I trudged through the snow to me flat. There, I poured meself a glass of Irish whiskey, toasted me dark little tree, and closed me eyes, wishing I was home (but only for 5 seconds did I wish that).

I was back at work the next day with nary time to realise I spent Christmas with strangers who warmly welcomed me into their home and accepted me like I was cousin Jethro from Alabama. :)

Only after 2 days of sobering up and working me tail off did I realise I had been interrogated up the wazoo by the competition pretending to be me American friend.

Sooo, I did the only thing I could do, I asked her out for New Year's Eve at the Copley, big bash, long dresses, expensive, and there I was smiling like a Cheshire cat in a tuxedo. She got well looped on the flowing champagne and gained pounds a minute on the Beluga and cheese with shrimp hors d'oeuvres. Dinner came, and it was roast duck smothered in a rich Amaretto sauce with southern sweet potato pate' and forget dessert. I don't know what it was, but it was full of calories, and I hand-fed me darling, not only hers, but mine!

I took her back to my place and made hot cocoa with lots of whipped cream and a little peppermint Schnapps. She told me EVERYTHING I wanted to know about HER newspaper. The following day, she woke up feeling "bloated and fat." Yes, fat. And it was all my fault. It was, I don't deny it. It was an expensive night out, but it takes two to tango and tango I did while feeding her as much food as I could cram into her.

I have not heard any more from her, though I did see her working out at Gold's Gym. I hear she has been there ever since New Year's Day. I know my name is mentioned because a friend told me if you walk past her as she's puffing on the spinner, she's cursing me royally.

There it is, I be alive and well, thinking I can get used to Christmas in America. Well, sort of.

Gabriel the Holy (not really, but it looks good typed out)

Gabe
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