Thursday, December 18, 2008

On Spruces, Sickness, and Snoring

This year, the Hendersons, being exceedingly busy, are woefully behind the ball in respect to the holidays. The apartment has not been festooned with decorations, the mall has been shunned, the holiday cards have not been postmarked, and the fridge is pitifully devoid of soy milk egg nog. Up until recently, the Hendersons hadn't even purchased a Christmas tree, a glaring omission that was finally corrected last night by an evening jaunt to a nearby tree vendor. Call Rickey sappy (lame pun intended) but there's nothing quite like wandering down dimly lit needly green alleys of Balsam, Fraser, and Douglas fir trees on a brisk snowy night with the thick scent of pine needles in the air. At one point, some sort of maudlin jewelry television advertisement might have conceivably occurred, had the peaceful silence not been broken by Ms. Henderson's strenuous whooping coughs (the poor girl is sick as a dog). After a thorough and scientific inspection of the various offerings, the Hendersons settled on the Balsam fir, undoubtedly the most fragrant of all Christmas trees. Rickey values this splendid tree for it's snazzy dark green looks, it's long lasting needles and it's overall attractive proportional triangular form. We'll toss up a few images of the tree once Rickey affixes his customary bloody Jesus Christmas tree ornament on top of it.

Having finally gotten around to purchasing a tree, the Hendersons atoned for their seasonal lateness with a brilliant show of religious relativism by grabbing a bite to eat at the local Kosher deli. Rickey and Ms. Henderson parked the car out front with the tree tied to the roof and sheepishly walked inside with a look that seemed to hint "hey Jews, sorry about the Christmas tree!" Now, Rickey strongly believes in the restorative properties of matzo ball soup and suspected that a bit of Jewish penicillin would cure Ms. Henderson's sick carcass. Rickey, for one, cannot wait to celebrate Hanukkah this Sunday evening and the glorious matzo balls that will invariably come with it (yes, Rickey double dips on the holidays). And judging by her notable improvement this morning, Rickey was indeed correct in his prognosis for Ms. Henderson's ailments. Granted, she credits her recovery to the half gallon of Robitussin she chugged last night, but Rickey thinks otherwise. Either way, it beats putting up with another night of her phlegmy snoring, which has been downright horrific for the past three nights.

See, ever since she got sick, Ms. Henderson's snoring has ranged from a sort of bird whistling noise to the sound of boulders tumbling down a mountain. Sometimes there's a chainsaw in there too. Sometimes she makes a noise similar to what children make when they've just stopped crying: a sort of honk. And what of the rhythm? Best as Rickey can figure, Ms. Henderson's sick snoring is generally in 4/4 or 6/8 regular time, but the worst is when it turns arrhythmic and cacophonous, because Rickey can't even get lulled to sleep by it. And then sometimes it's just old-fashioned snoring, much like Popeye or Homer Simpson. Rickey will be incredibly relieved when the sickness passes and he can get a solid night's sleep once again.

That other sound you're hearing? That's the sound of a vengeful Ms. Henderson crossing items off her Christmas list for Rickey upon reading this post...

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Stumble Upon Toolbar

6 comments:

Mike said...

Rickey just tells it like it is. The sensitivities of the reader are not his concern!

Bob said...

"The apartment has not been festooned with decorations, the mall has been shunned, the holiday cards have not been postmarked, and the fridge is pitifully devoid of soy milk egg nog. Up until recently, the Hendersons hadn't even purchased a Christmas tree,"

I too have been a slacker. Considering that this is likely the first Christmas my daughter will remeber, it also make me a horrible Dad.

I bopught the tree last night. Its going up on Saturday.

Some cards are out, but only the ones my wife did, so my friends all hate me.

Darryl said...

That is indeed a magical tree vendor that sells rows of fir trees that miraculously smell like pine trees.

Rickey is quite on target with the curative powers of matzo ball soup - as for myself, I always look forward to potato latkes at the Jewish holidays.

Cheers!

George said...

fridge is pitifully devoid of soy milk egg nog

I might choose a different adverb there.

Haley said...

I fear leaving a comment is pointless, as Rickey must undoubtedly be dead by now.

But his ghost should know that a few nights of feminine snoring is nothing --NOTHING -- compared with the sounds that have been known to eminate from my significant other.

On the bright side, he's an obedient sleeper -- a swift kick and a gentle "Shut it!" usually does the trick.

Rickey Henderson said...

George: if you add enough nutmeg, the soy nog aint all that bad... Rickey loves the regular nog too, but if left unchecked, he'll consume 5 gallons of it in one sitting.

Bob: Others are doing their part to keep the economy afloat, are you?

Haley: Rickey's still alive and blogging (Ms. Henderson hasn't gotten home yet). Rickey too is a bit of a restless sleeper and yet is completely subserviant in his sleep. One nudge or "get back over there!" from the Ms. and he's back on his side of the bed. Rickey is ever so fortunate that Ms. Henderson isn't bothered by his snoring.

Darryl: you're in luck friend--Rickey plans on posting a kick ass recipe for matzo ball soup in the neat future. (hint: it's all about the broth, baby).