1970’s vagina…

“What the fuck! Shave that 1970’s vagina off your face!”

It was two days before Christmas, and that was the first thing Joy said to me when she saw me. It was fair. I hadn’t shaved in about two months, and it was getting a little out of control. It has since been shaved down to a more respectable 1990’s vagina.

For the first time in as far as I can remember, I was actually looking forward to the holidays. So much, I trekked down to my sister’s place on the 23rd to hang out with the family. This is an amazing accomplishment as I generally hate two things:

Holidays and family time.

But, I had the Christmas spirit this past year, and it was no doubt partially due to the fact that I had narrowed all of my Christmas purchasing requirements down to just the immediate family.

It broke down like this:

The nephew – Headphones (Skullcandy)

The niece – Crafts (including one of those bad ass paint spinner thingies where you put a piece of cardboard on some dohickey, it spins real fast and you shoot paint out of bottles (like ketchup bottles found at restaurants) onto said cardboard. When the dohickey stops spinning, you are rewarded with a masterpiece not unlike a psychiatrist’s inkblot. It’s pretty damn cool, and those who know what it is already know exactly what I’m talking about).

The brother in-law – A hoody and a bubblebath gift set. Go ahead, laugh. I do.

The patriarch – A lifetime subscription to Hard Case Crime. Since I had picked this up for him in July, I told my sister I would throw in for the Sirius radio she had bought for him, too.

The matriarch – I can’t say yet, as it has not been ordered (what I’m getting for both my mom and my sis has been out of stock since three weeks before Christmas. It’s finally in stock).

Originally, I was going to go in with my sister to get my mom something. I spoke to Joy about this. It was the same conversation when she was telling me what she was getting dad. I told her to buy my mom something, and I’ll throw in (we do this every year. I hate buying gifts, Joy usually does it and I give her cash). Joy was agreeable to this.

So, on Christmas day, after all the presents had been opened, I hear my dad yelling to me from the other room:

“Stewie, where’s your gift to your mom?”

“Joy has it! Joy, where is it?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I already gave my gift to my mom. Didn’t you buy her anything?”

I walked into the room. “No. We talked about you buying her something and me giving you money.”

“Oh. I guess I forgot. Mom,” Joy said, “how do you like what I bought for you. What did your son get you? Oh, that’s right…nothing.”

It went like that the rest of the day. But that’s okay, and it’s normal because that’s how my family rolls, Christmas is no exception.