Post Dramatic Stress Disorder

This is a guest post by innominatus' inner Grinch voice that innominatus tries to stifle but sometimes can't quite rein in. For the sake of those lacking imagination, this inner Grinch voice, if he were a physical embodiment, would look kinda like:

Now, onto the guest post:

Drama, drama, everywhere,           

              I cannot hardly think...

Drama, drama, everywhere,          

                  I need to see a shrink!  **

Alright.  The wife has completed her One-Woman Crusade to stimulate the economy.  When you go looking at the news and some vapid infobabe says "Retail spending rose sharply in the waning days of the Christmas buying season" you'll have me to thank.  At least I hope she's done.  Sheesh.  After this spending spree, Moody's has adjusted my bond rating to a new level just below "junk" and just above "California."  And the presents - wow!  You can barely see the tree.  The living room looks like some Mayan pyramid of wrapped objects.

Put a ribbon and a "from" note on each stone and stick a little tree on top, and it'll look just like my living room.

There are so many presents I can't get to the water reservoir in the tree base.  Yes, the tree is now going to dry out, burst into flames, and kill everybody.  Ho Ho Ho.  Why a real tree?  Well, it ticks off the hippies more than a fake tree.  Plus, it has "that smell"  which my wife insists on.  I say to the wife "hey, wife!  ya know I can go to Knecht's Auto Parts and get a little tree air freshener for $.89?  Or about 25 of 'em for what we paid for that tree?" at which point I have to dodge a flying frying pan.  So now the tree is about a week old and already lost all its smell, and is still going to kill us in a fire...

But that's not the all of it...  There are all those decorative doohickies that gotta be hung from it.  If we were single and petless, maybe I could be convinced.  BUT WE AREN'T.  We have dogs.  And when the ever-wagging yellow dog's tail connects with one of them ornaments, it's like ARod doing business with a hanging curve.  And I'm not talkin' modern-day skinny ARod.  I mean the ARod from about 5 years ago before the drug testers took away his juicebox.  Christmas Ornaments + Wagging Tail = Weapon of XMass Destruction.  That ornament is going... going... going... GONE over the left field sofa cushion.

Not only have we pets, we also have GRANDKIDS.  So on Christmas morning we're expecting at least four toddlers.  Do you know that they ALL want?  D'ohra the Explorer stuff.  And they got it.  And almost all of it lights up and/or makes noises and/or says things in Spanish.  Like the Diego Trike that has a working horn and yells izquierda when you hit the turn signal.  Yay.  They're all gonna be here at the same time, probably fighting over stuff 'cuz they're too young to figure out what belongs to who, but too old not to be selfish brats. 

"Hey!  What are you... NO! You can't give chocolate to the dogs [aw crap!] what was that crashing sound?  Whaddya mean you jumped your remote-control monster truck into the mirror?  What gets blood out of carpet?  We don't HAVE a chimney, so Santa comes in through the dryer vent.  I don't know why!  Do you really have to ask so many questions?  Probably 'cuz it is warm like a chimney!  Now please, quit pulling your cousin's hair!  Your mom doesn't spank you much, does she?  GAAAAAAH!!!!! I can't stand it!"