Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Dead Men Walking Comedy Theater #1

It has often been said that there are no atheists in foxholes. I don't know about that, but there always seem to be plenty of comedians.

"So many memories," I said, as we drove past an Outback restaurant where we'd eaten on a previous trip. "Remember when we had dinner our first night here, and I wound up excusing myself to go take a Xanax in the parking lot?"

"Good times," Gloria said.

I can't even describe this properly, but during one particularly stressful moment I started humming "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" to the rhythm of a military march. I had Gloria in stitches, even though I am entirely unable to describe it properly.

"I like to have goals on vacation," I said on Tuesday morning as we drove to breakfast. "My goals today are: one, not to get run over by a car, and two, not to get food poisoning."

"Oh, Dad," Eli 9.4 said, laughing.

Please note that I almost failed number one.

"Dad," Eli said, "Nana didn't sit next to you at dinner because she doesn't trust you."

"That's funny," I said, "because you do."

"Do I, Dad?" he said. "DO I?"

Gloria and I were rehashing the day's events before we went to bed, much like coordinators stay awake watching game film after a 56-7 thrashing.

"Good grief," I said, "I can't talk about this anymore--it's too depressing. Do you know how people who are into bondage are supposed to have a 'safe word' when they want the other person to stop? We need a safe word when we talk about this. Like 'rutabaga.' So you could be telling me something and I would start shouting "Rutabaga. RUTABAGA!"

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