Grenadine McGunkle’s Double-Wide Christmas, Chapter 12: A B+ of a Christmas Eve
I look down at my watch and tap on the glass to make sure it ain’t stopped. Sure enough, the little red hand is circling Minnie’s head, just like it always does. Unless my eyesight’s started to go all of a sudden, it ain’t even nine o’clock yet! So what in the devil can that man be shouting about?
I don’t have to wait long to find out. Stouge’s voice is still bouncing off the trailers when he rounds the bend, running up the row like a bat out of Hellman’s Mayonnaise. Whatever he’s upset about, it’s got to be big. Under normal circumstances, the man don’t even walk fast.
Before Stouge gets too close, I shoot a look at Earl, hoping for some backup, but he’s still in his chair by the barbecue grill. How that man can sleep through all this racket, I’ll never know. Some folks in white coats ought to take him to a lab and put him under a microscope.
I notice my husband did wake up long enough to get himself a beer, though, ‘cause there’s a cold one sitting in his lap. Must’ve been when Gladys and I was inside cooking, the sneaky so-and-so. Good thing, too–if I’d seen him awake, you can bet your bottom dollar I would’ve asked him to help clean up. Not that he’d have actually lent a hand, mind you.
Marriage is a complicated thing, is what I’m trying to say.
By the time I look around from checking on Earl, Stouge is within spitting distance. “Grenadine! Grenadine!” he hollers again at the top of his lungs. Lord, someone needs to tell that man about mouthwash.
“Look here, Mr. Stouge,” I say, trying to keep my wits together. “It’s barely half past eight, and we’ve done an awful good job of keeping our voices down ‘til now. I ain’t no lawyer, but I believe that we are perfectly within our rights to have a little get-together once a year to celebrate the birth of our lord and—”
“Merry Christmas!” Stouge shouts from three feet away, looking around at all of us. “Merry Christmas, everybody!”
Now, I’ve seen a lot of stuff today, including a few things I shouldn’t have. And I’m not even talking about what I glimpsed on Earl’s computer while I was making breakfast. Good goobity goo, that internet’s a mess, ain’t it?
But nothing–and I mean nothing with a capital “NO”–compares with Ephraim Stouge wishing everyone at the Everlasting Arms Motor Park a merry Christmas.