Sat 24-Dec-11 05:11 PM | edited Sat 24-Dec-11 05:13 PM by agitater
You're just thinking about this now? Kind of last minute, n'est ce pas?
I recommend the following:
1. 1900 hours: Daughter arrives at the house.
2. 1901 hours: Dad gives daughter huge hug, kiss, more hugs, stares into daughter's eyes wondering how he produced such an incredible child.
3. 1905 hours: Dad gives head a major shake, presses his internal reset button and rushes to thank Mom for producing the incredible child.
4. 1910 hours: Cat carrier is brought into the house. Dogs start barking.
5. 1916 hours: Dad pours a short glass of 20 year old Glendronnach scotch. Dogs continue barking despite repeated remonstrations to shut up.
6. 1930 hours: Someone suggests letting the dogs out in the backyard to run off some of the energy. As this is happening, daughter is heard to ask, "Hmm, I wonder what Socks can use as a litter box?"
7. 1945 hours: Dogs are barking incessantly in backyard. They know that a furry, Socks-like substance is now prowling their territory and nobody (including Dad) seems to be doing anything about it.
8. 2000 hours: Dad pours a second scotch, a bit larger, this time a 15 year old MacAllan (after all, you can't go wrong with the old standards, eh?). The dogs don't seem to be barking quite as loud.
9. 2020 hours: Dad and family, daughter most especially, sit around the living room catching up. Cat is locked in daughter's room to keep him out of the way.
10. 2045 hours: Daughter lets dogs back into the house, whereupon they start tearing up the joint looking for the cat thingy that has been allowed to invade the sanctity of their domicile.
11. 2048 hours: Dogs are fed lightly, watered, and then tossed outside again. Barking ensues.
12. 2050 hours: First phone call from neighbours - "Would you please quiet the dogs."
13. 2100 hours: Dad has third scotch while grumbling about the "testy neighbours" and considering that the MacAllan just isn't good enough right now. 'The daughter is home for the holidays, after all, and that calls for the best!' This time it's two full ounces of The Balvenie, 25 years old, and the smoothest ride this side of heaven itself.
14. 2115 hours: Daughter is still talking about something or other, Dad has a beatific smile on his face reveling in the warmth of family and his wonderful daughter. Somebody notices that the dogs are still barking outside. "Let 'em in, let 'em in," Dad exclaims, "The cat will have to either stay in the bedroom or fend for himself. It's Christmas!" Uh-huh.
15. 2120 hours: Dogs, after vainly pawing at the daughter's bedroom door in search of the cat/squirrel thingy, finally give up and settle down for a well-earned nap.
16. 2145 hours: Dad pours his fourth scotch, this time a two ounce bracer of 20 year old Glenrothes. Dad is a bit unsteady with the pour and slops a couple of drops on the liquor cabinet shelf. Nobody is looking so he leans down and licks up the drops. 'Good stuff should never go to waste,' he mumbles.
17. 2205 hours: Dogs are still quiet, daughter and the rest of the family are chattering about everything under the sun, the phone is ringing (people calling to see if daughter made it home okay). Dad is smiling, sitting in his favourite chair, and the glass of Glenrothes is empty.
18. 2215 hours: Dogs are howling about the cat again. Everybody is fussing about Christmas day, exactly what time to eat, who is visiting whom, who is wearing what. Somebody has put on a Christmas music CD. Dad gets up amid the din and pours himself just one more short one, this time a 16 year old Islay Lagavulin.
19. 2220 hours: Dad is fast asleep in his chair, smiling from ear to ear, with no worries at all about dogs or cats or daughters or anything else. He dreams very peacefully about his daughter coming home for the holidays and how good it feels to give her a great big hug when she arrives.