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Saturday, December 28, 2013

Jean-Claude Van Damme's Guide to Christmas Day

Who was I kidding when I said I wouldn’t write a post between December 22 and December 31? Those days are the best days of the year for Poinker shenanigans. 

I was going to save it all up and condense it all into one post but I don’t think I can… 

        Scotto bought me a personalised notebook to write down all my observations in!

Consequently, today’s post will regale you with the uncouth and hugely censored snippets of the Poinker’s Christmas Day. 

Back when the kids were little they would awaken at the crack of dawn and pester us to get out of bed so they could rip into the plethora of shiny presents under the tree. Nowadays we’re woken up by Pablo the Chihuahua’s tongue spiralling up our nostrils at six am. After dragging ourselves up and downing a couple of coffees we're obliged to ‘let the dogs out’ onto the slumbering teenagers ensconced snuggly amongst doonas in their Arctic-temperature bedrooms. 

It was eleven o’clock in the morning by the time everyone was seated, sipping champagne and orange juice and eating chocolate and stone fruit. 

Instead of the mysteriously wrapped gifts of yesteryear, each Poinker child (including Hagar’s girlfriend, Meggles) was handed an envelope containing a couple of gift vouchers and cold, hard cash. 

Before you judge me I must point out I put A LOT of effort into selecting appropriate gift vouchers. Remember back in September when all five of my kids forgot it was my birthday and gave me NOTHING? Well this time they managed to make some sort of effort. 

Except for one… the ‘One’ with the most money in his stash. 

“Here Mum…” the ‘One’ carelessly grabbed a fifty dollar note out of his wallet. “Do you have change for a fifty? I’d like to give you forty dollars to put in your online betting account.” 

Look... I do have an online betting account but I've probably used it twice in the last two years and besides… I didn’t feel money for my ‘betting account’ was a very thoughtful gift to offer in the true spirit of Christmas. 

“Put your money away!” I snapped at the ‘One’. Now I know why the ‘One’ has such a large bank account. 

We were all packed up to head over to my sister Sam’s for Christmas lunch. Sam lives a fifteen minute walk away from us but it was arranged that Jonah (who doesn’t really drink much) would drive the ‘One’s’ car over with the esky and take us as well. 

Unfortunately, the ‘One’ decided to take off in the car by himself and leave the rest of us stranded by the side of the road mandating a hot, muggy walk over to Sam’s in the midday, North Queensland sun. 

At this point Pinky was beginning to feel slightly pissed off with the ‘One’ even though it WAS Christmas day and you’re not really supposed to have those strong, murderous emotions gurgling away inside. 

The kids began walking ahead and by the time Scotto and I huffed and puffed our way through Sam’s front door, the ‘One’ had already stirred up a vitriolic argument with eighteen year old Padraic by taunting him about his recent haircut. 

The ‘One’ continued his merciless carry on until Padraic, feisty character that he is, began to threaten the ‘One’ with a belt in the head. 

Twenty year old Hagar, for some inexplicable reason, unwisely put his two bits worth in. 

“Do you want a rassel?” goaded Padraic. “C’mon Hagar… I bet I could beat you in a rassel.” 

“Calm down, Padraic!” warned a nervous Pinky, “And don’t you mean a wrestle?” 

“Yeah… a rassel!” 

This aggressive badgering went on for another miserable ten minutes until finally Hagar, steam emanating out of his earholes, stood up and nobly accepted the challenge. 

The Jean-Claude Van Damme action moved over to the grass out of view and while Lulu and Jonah went to document the ‘rassling match’ on their iPhones, Pinky sat gripping her wine glass, eyes clenched shut and waiting for the police and ambulance sirens to arrive screaming down the street. 

The boys both returned to the table panting, sweaty and grass stained after only a few minutes. 

Padraic sported a nasty grass burn on the side of his face but he’d calmed down having been put in his place by a body plant by the much larger Hagar. 

But still the relentless ‘One’ continued to annoy most of the gathering with his misappropriated sense of humour. 

“When’s a gnome not a gnome?” he read boisterously from a Christmas Cracker joke. 

“When is a gnome not a gnome?” echoed Greigor’s (family friend) elderly mother, visibly relieved the violent interlude had settled down. 

“When it’s looking up a pixie’s skirt and it’s a goblin,” chortled the ‘One’. 

Call me a prude but this was definitely NOT the joke from the cracker. Thankfully Greigor’s frail little mum didn’t get it. 

Pinky took the ‘One’ aside several times during the afternoon and delivered a verbal thrashing but ‘twas to no avail. 

Mercifully, he eventually crashed out in one of the bedrooms at Sam’s early in the piece so the party took on a more ‘joyful’ tone. 

I’ve never quite understood why emergency rooms cite the highest rate of domestic violence and injuries on Christmas Day more than on any other day. 

I do now and all I can say is... this year there were thankfully no emergency visits from the Poinkers. 

Next year, Scotto and I will be going on a cruise and leaving them all at home. 

       (Taken before the 'rassel') Ma Kelly and the Poinker Gang.

Tomorrow’s post will tell of our foray over to the classy side of town to visit my friend, Dolly and her family on Boxing Day.