Holy Smallpox Batman!

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The other night over dinner, the bride starts to tell me a story about some article she read that day. Bride: 'So this librarian found an envelope of hundred year old scabs in a book - ' Me: 'Ew! Stop! Eating a pork chop here!' Bride: 'Yeah, but listen, they were these smallpox scabs -' Me: 'Stop saying that word while I'm eating, woman!' Bride: 'What? Scab?' Me: 'I must go vomit now.' I don't know what it is about the story, I'm not particularly bothered by my own scabbed wounds, or even my daughter's skinned knees for example. But there's something about other people's scabs that really just makes a pork chop inedible.
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Guaranteed Holiday Fun

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Our critter Ella was in her first Christmas pageant ever last night - she managed to sit on stage while her teachers were singing and not pick her nose, spit up or whack the kid next to her (at 18 months old, that's a heck of an achievement). If I had known how much fun these things were, I'd have been going for years. Watching 200 kids 2-4 march on and off stage and shout (I can't describe it as 'singing') "We three kings" at the top of their lungs with various degrees of enthusiasm is guaranteed to make you laugh. You have 80 of the kids trying to remember the wavy-arm motions their teachers taught them to go with the song, about 15-20 in various stages of sniffles, 40 kids waving at their parents/grandparents/brothers/sisters in the audience, 30 kids poking or being poked by their neighbors, 10 kids just looking around trying to figure out what's going on, and at least one kid who really has to go pee right-at-this-moment. And for the parents of the little girl singing "I have decided to follow Je. Sus." I'm apologize for going off into giggles everytime she got to the line "Heissowonderful I LUUUV Him." Shania Twain, watch out.
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