Christmas in the Bahamas

Way back in the engagement days, Catherine and I had decided to host Christmas for the parents, in spite of numerous Griswoldian visions of a dystopian yuletide. Our parents all rock – but with any situation in which you’re hosting people who know you that intimately, the potential is always there for embarrassment and awkwardness, and usually without any degree of warning whatsoever.

This did not happen. Christmas ’08 in this newly-christened family household went off without a hitch and ended up a lot of fun. My dad, mom, and respective stepparents drove in from Galesburg, Illinois (which will make many future appearances here, rest assured), and Catherine’s parents came from nearby Woodridge for a monstrous turkey and lots of presents. Toward the end of the night, however, something unexpected happened: a new tradition was born.

Some backstory: a few years ago, my mom, stepdad, and I decided to start exchanging stockings on steroids. I don’t mean to imply that we ourselves were juicing; rather, we started filling each other’s stockings not with just the typical candy and small gifts, but bigger, weirder, deliberately strange presents that, if successful, sent us into fits of hysteria or puzzlement. For example: in my stocking, I once discovered a brightly-wrapped necklace from my stepfather Dave made entirely of twine, tampons, and condoms. My mother receives propaganda for the Army Reserve each and every year, and I believe comes to actually look forward to it. (What new design will it be? Are the colors ever going to change? Is it a one-sheet or a tri-fold? The mind reels at the possibilities of the season.)

But this year, I took what could be considered the grand prize, once again courtesy of Dave.

It is a coffee mug shaped like a breast. A boob mug, if you will, open in the back for easy filling, and accessible for drinking from the front. That’s right: through the nipple. Whoever thought of this must have felt like a genius, but he or she didn’t see fit to stop there. No, this was clearly intended to send a message to the folks back home, for across the top, in bold, black letters, it reads “I Got Busted In The Bahamas!” It is perhaps the most ridiculous tourist item I’ve ever seen in my life, and even Dave claims ignorance as to where the ceramic knocker really came from. It’s been in the family for a while now, apparently, and what can I say: it was my year. I present it here for your approval or revulsion.

The Christmas Boob.

The Christmas Boob.

Needless to say, this mug is going to remain in annual circulation, and hopefully remain a cherished family tradition until the end of days. On WGN, Chicago’s biggest AM station and one of my many addictions, Steve Cochran has circulated a fruitcake among his listeners for several years now and encourages its caretaker to snap some pics of the fruitcake enjoying itself in various exotic locales. So it shall be with our boob. Perhaps you’ll see it in this space, not long from now, playing slots at a casino or hailing a cab on State Street. Let 2009 be the premiere Year of the Breast, and may it bring joy to whomever finds it, brightly packaged, ribboned, and passed on with love, in his or her stocking this year.

UPDATE: The mug has had its first encounter with a non-family member.

Just before Christmas, our washing machine went on the fritz, so we called the office and put in a service request. Thinking nothing of our random Christmas things scattered about the house, we left for work one morning last week, and came home to discover that the complex’s maintenance staff had fixed our washer.

What we’d forgotten was that the boob had been sitting prominently on the corner of our breakfast bar, facing the house when one walks up the stairs – the first sight our intrepid washer-fixer must have seen upon entering. It’s possible that we are now the talk of the leasing office. God only knows what they think we’re up to if we appear to be taking our coffee from the teat.

Maybe we’ll anonymously send it to the leasing office come December. Deck the halls, my friends. Deck the halls.

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~ by thismarriedguy on January 14, 2009.

One Response to “Christmas in the Bahamas”

  1. Okay re: your move…go on Craigslist and find starving artists/college students to help you move. I hired two guys who had 4 years of moving experience, all the equipment (blankets, straps, etc) and it was CHEAP! Amazing.

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