Christmas Present by Marie Shields My sisterinlaw has arrived with her three little darlings, all under the age of four, and that pompous proctologist she's married to. I'd suspect he wasn't the father if they didn't all look just like him. The baby is really his pitting image since she's as bald as he is. The other two actually have hair, lots of it, bright spiky redorange hair. Wonder where that comes fi'om. We don‘t have any redheads. It‘s going to be mayhem around here for awhile with all the cooing and ooing and ‘hasn't she gotten big' comments. I'll be saying it too, but when I do, I mean that those kids are fatter than ever. 1 holler at my wife that I‘m going to take the dogs for a walk and slip out the kitchen door. Damn dogs. Usually they're pulling on the leash wanting to go another mile or so. Today they are dragging behind me as if I were abusing them. It's a thought. When life gives you lemons, kick the dog. Or something like that. 1 half drag, half walk them to the dog park where they refuse to play and just sit there staring moumfully at me. Nobody here but me and them, guess they know where the action is. Afier an hour I give it up. Now that we're headed for home they're in a hun'y. "Heel," I holler. "Heel, you mutts." They ignore me. Well, at least I had enough foresight this year to stash a bottle of Seagram's 7 in the garage. I chug down a couple of good belts before I go inside to join in the holiday festivities. "Hiya Proc. How's the butt business?" I laugh at my own witticism, but I'll bet he thinks I'm laughing at him struggling out of my recliner. Maybe I shouldn't have had that last belt. "Merry Christmas, Richard. I have asked you more than a dozen times not to call me by that vulgar name," he says. "Dick. My name's Dick. Think penis, Doc." His hands are ‘the tools of his trade‘ and he's very protective of them. 1 squeeze his hand as hard as I can when we shake. We stand toe to toe, eye to eye. Sort of. He's about a foot taller than me and got one hell of a grip for a fat guy. 1 shrug and let go first. "Where's my old lady?" "Our wives are upstairs putting the finishing touches on Santa's surprises."
TLW/67
