The Eventful Holiday Eves

In an earlier post, I mentioned that my holidays were relatively uneventful. I suppose that is true, for the holidays themselves.

The "Eves," however, are another story.

CHRISTMAS EVE

We went over to my sister's house for dinner, as did my parents and my sister's in-laws (in-laws of my sister? you get the idea). We also brought a friend from our ward along (her husband had to work that night).

As we were leaving my sister's house, Anne's fancy-pants car started beeping. Okay, it's really not that fancy of a car, but it's fancier than what I drive, so I call it fancy. And it's a minivan, not a car. Our friend asked what the beeping meant. I explained that it beeps to warn you that you're about to hit something when going in reverse.

So, I demonstrated. "See, and as you get closer, the beeping gets faster."

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEPBEPBEPBEPBEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP ~*crunch* ~

Oops! What happened? In all the explaining, I actually forgot to push the brake pedal! And the target of my braking inability? The car belonging to my sister's mother-in-law (or, my sister's mother-in-law's car). Uh, Merry Christmas?

Moral of the story? When the car beeps, stop. That is, after all, why it beeps.

NEW YEAR'S EVE

We went to Fuddrucker's for dinner. I got a burger and a water. They have tall water glasses there. I even found some lemon, and had the water "seasoned" just the way I like it (something I rarely make the effort of doing, unless lemon is actually delivered hanging on the edge of my glass). We were sitting, waiting for our little coaster-pager thingy to start flashing, when for some reason I neglected to pay close attention to my 20 month old son. He reached out, grabbed my towering glass of perfectly-lemoned ice water, and knocked it over.

Into my lap. Caught reasonably off guard and surprised, I let out an expletive.

The man at the next table over was quick on his feet, and delivered a few paper napkins which essentially dissolved.

Then there was the issue of my pants, which were soaked from the crotch down. As the man from the next table said, laughing, "I'm witness! It wasn't that kind of an accident."

The food came. My burger was half cooked. Not in the sense that it was cooked half as long as I would have liked, but rather that half of it was cooked, and half of it wasn't. I think someone needs to check the griddle burners?

Anne, sweetheart that she is, took it back so I wouldn't have to walk past 75 people with wet crotch pants. When it finally came back, I was no longer hungry.

Moral of the story? Wear khaki, it dries quick (pants were dry by the time we got home).