"Whee-hah, that one blowed up real good!"
If you're reading this, then you know I survived Boxing Day. In all honesty, when I dragged my sorry ass out of bed at an ungodly hour in the morning (by my definition, any hour of the morning is ungodly when the sun has not yet risen, but you have), I was expecting Boxing Day to look more like Judgement Day. I had painful visions of Terminator endoskeletons trying to dress up like customers and mow down the kiosk.
And yet, I'm almost disappointed to say that there was no need to make use of the
Customer Appreciation Pancake Maker yesterday. That was the most peculiar thing about Boxing Day: the whole mall threw its doors wide open all day with big sales...and not a lot of people came.
Certainly we made steady sales throughout the day, but the volume was probably half of what I was told to fear. In a lot of ways, I've spent the last two weeks dreading what amounted to nothing. I wish I had known this prior; I would have rather liked to not waste all that perfectly good dread. In the stead I could have dreaded something like lichen, or bikini waxes.
And yet, the horror I was anticipating was not wholly wasted. I did make the unpleasant discovery (probably due to exhaustion and stress) that morning that Corn Flakes taste the same an hour later coming up as they did going down. Blind luck that one of the other kiosk staffers arrived for her shift when she did; I made a beeline for the nearest bathroom, and discovered that Gerber might be able to score big with a pureed version of breakfast cereals. The form may be liquified, but the taste marches on.
Disgusting anecdotes aside, I am pleased that Phase Two of
Operation: Get This Freakin' Season Over & Done With has come to an end. So has the season, for that matter. Things can now quiet down. Is it peculiar for me to look forward so much to Christmas just so it can be finished?
In other news, some of you are now doubt wondering about the SCTV reference found in the title of this particular bit of nowhere. It all relates to Boxing Day evening, where despite my physical ailments, Mel was suffering more than I was. So I tried my best to cheer her up by doing many things: steaming rice for her, throwing a movie in, bundling her up in a nice, warm afghan, reading Neil Gaiman's
The Wolves In The Walls to her, and exploding a chocolate milkshake for her.
Mel adds here that if my intent was to have made her laugh, I succeeded. She also adds that if my intent was to get drops of chocolate milkshake all over the ceiling, then I also succeeded. In my defence, when your wife tells you (after you've removed the lid of the blender's pitcher) that the milkshake could use a little more blending, and forgets to add that you should put the lid back on first, it's not entirely your fault.
(Mel's Note: "Excuse me, it's common sense!")
And so, as Mel sits next to me, and plucks my shoulder hair with a pair of tweezers, I leave you with the
Pondering of the Day: if you cross paths with an abandoned, uneaten tunafish sandwich, is it considered unlucky?
posted by Phillip at 6:29 PM
