Fried chicken in my pants

Christmas can be a stressful time for anyone, especially in this economy. It's difficult to find that perfect gift and sometimes even more difficult to find the money to buy it.


The crowds are absurd, the parking is non-existant, and patience runs extrememly low while depression runs high.
So when I get to the point where I want to fellate a gun barrel, I try to remember what Christmas meant to me when I was young.

Kids are brilliant this way. They see all of the good in Christmas and none of the bad. The crowds are interesting and exciting, parking at the end of a lot isn't a big deal and OMG IS THAT SANTA?!?!? MOM!! MOM!!! I NEED TO TALK TO SANTA!!! I NEEEEEEED TOOOOO!!!!

Yeah, kids know how to celebrate Christmas.

So when I get completely stressed/depressed/unimpressed, I think about Christmases when I was little.


One that always stands out is the Christmas when I was about five years old. The tree was lit up in the livingroom, the stockings were all hung with care, the presents from family and friends were under the tree and I was in my new Christmas jammies that we always got on Christmas Eve.


I laid in my bed, eyes boring holes into the ceiling, jumping at every imagined noise. I knew Santa wouldn't come until I had fallen asleep, but I couldn't help it!! I couldn't sleep at all!! Santa wouldn't come and it would be all my fault!!


I climbed up the stairs and peeked into the livingroom where my parents were waiting so they could 'help Santa set up the presents'.
"Mommy?"
"What are you doing up? Go to sleep!"
"I can't sleep!"
"Santa won't come if you don't go to sleep."
I was starting to tear up at this point, "I kno-oh-oh-oh!!!"
My brother Zeke, who's six years older than I am, came out of his room and told me to come sleep in his bed so Santa would come.


YAY! Santa was going to come and I got to sleep in my brother's room with him! How cool was that?


Zeke and I stayed up for another hour or so, talking about Christmas and Santa when he suddenly shushed my and became very still.
"Do you hear that?"
"What? Hear what??"
"That! On the rooftop! It sounds like reindeer."
"REALLY?!?"
"Yeah! So you better pretend to sleep so Santa will leave us our presents!"
I immediately rolled over and did such a great job of pretending to sleep, I actually fell asleep.


I dreamt of summer and grassy lawns. I dreamt I was at a family friend's house and riding around on one of those electric Hot Wheels cars... the kind EVERYONE wanted as a kid and I always knew someone who had them, but I never got one. It was almost always an only child who had them, too. Huh.
Anyway, I ran up to the back porch in my dream because lunch was ready. Fried chicken! YUM!! Then I dreamt that the family's son put a fried chicken drumstick down the back of my pants and I was running around with fried chicken in my pants. It was lumpy, warm, and very uncomfortable.

I woke up and realized I had crapped the bed.

I started balling, being mainly embarrassed, Zeke was disgusted (of course) and my parents were exhausted.
They cleaned me up and put me in my bed and Zeke got to sleep on the couch in the livingroom.

On the couch.... in the livingroom.... where Santa was going to be!!! How unfair!!

I offered Zeke my bed, and I would take the couch, but no. Zeke got to sleep in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree mere feet from where Santa would be laying out our presents.


I wasn't so sure that Santa would even show with Zeke sleeping in the living room, but Mom assured me that as long as Zeke was asleep, Santa would come.

I went to my bed and fell into a deep, fried chicken-free slumber and woke a few hours later.


It was Christmas morning!!

I ran upstairs, woke my brother and asked the first thing that came to mind, "DID YOU SEE SANTA?!?!?!"


Merry Christmas, everyone. And always remember what's important during the season: Crapping your pants can make for a good story, but family love makes for a great life.


Love you, bro.








Oh, and Santa is real. My brother saw him.