What’s up, diary?
Why can’t Christmas be one of those long holidays? Like summer. But it’s not. Which means there are only 353 days left until next Christmas. I better start working on my wish-list.
Grandma came over yesterday. We ate meatloaf. I hate meatloaf. Whenever Grandma comes over, which unfortunately is all the time, we only eat half-edible food. Half-edible food is meatloaf, lima beans, liver, beef stew and other deadly stuff. Sometimes I wonder why Dad married Mom if he knew that he was going to have to be related to Grandma too. Maybe he should have married someone from Spain. That way, Grandma would live in Barcelona or something. And Grandma hates long trips. Perfect!
Yesterday the temperature was a record low 18 degrees below zero. So Grandma freaked out and knitted me a green, fluorescent wool scarf before she came over.
“Say thank you,” Mom said.
“Spank you,” I said.
Grandma thought I looked so cute in my new scarf that she wanted me to come sit on her lap. But I accidentally turned into Milton the Caveman and started chewing on the rug. Grandma mumbled something about deciding to sit by herself.
“Spank you,” I said, and went to my room.
Grandma says that today is called Epiphany. Personally, I don’t care whose fanny it is.
“We have to thank the Lord for all that he’s given us,” Grandma says.
“What do you mean?” I answer. “I haven’t gotten anything.”
“You’ve been given life by the Lord.”
“Now listen here,” I say, irritated. “There was no other man around but Dad when I was made.”
Then Grandma wants to send me to Bible School for 15 or 20 years.
Every time Grandma leaves, I stand up straight at the door, to say good-bye and stuff. When I do, Grandma gives me dollar or two to buy something nice with. Then I go down to the store and buy a nice Snickers bar and a nice Jolt Cola. Sugar is my friend.