Christmas 2001: The morning the bed fell.

This is not a filk of Thurber, exactly, and definitely not a reopening of the discussion of the rotundity of some members of the cabal, er, I mean, group. Too many of the general US public are that way. As we discussed at some earlier Christmas season, I'm normally mistaken for Santa Claus only by very young children, and then only when wearing my heavy red winter coat. And my muscle tone is actually reasonably appropriate to my body weight -- I can now actually do pushups again, after about 40 years when I could not.

This last ability is entirely due to practice under the careful coaching of Mrs. Thorney. How many women in their 70's would suggest to their husband that "it might be fun if I lie on my back and you see if you can do pushups with Peter in my mouth"?

Anyway, it was the morning after Christmas, and the grandchildren had not yet arrived for the day. We were not, by Mrs. Thorney's standards, snug in our bed: I had flung all the covers off the bed in various directions. She complained:

"Hey, It's still cold. Aren't I at least entitled to be all wrapped up in red ribbon with a big bow, like you did last Christmas?"

"No." I said, "After all, you are my Christmas present. It is the morning after Christmas, and on the morning after Christmas anyone is allowed to have all their Christmas presents completely unwrapped. Right?"

"Yes, Master."

I shifted positions preparatory to the next activity. At this moment, the bed fell. Apparently I'd put my weight on the wrong spot, a side board gave way, and the bed slats, springs, mattress, and occupants all fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

No damage was done to the occupants, but further proceedings were very definitely interrupted. Plans for repairs are already on the drawing board. If anyone knows of a good post-Christmas sale price on four second-hand flying reindeer, I have a wonderful scheme for putting collars and harnesses on them and attaching them firmly to rings at the four corners of the mattress. Mrs. Thorney is opposed to the use of whips, however, so other suggestions for holding them at the proper altitude are invited.

(C) Thorney 2001. You may save one copy for yourself but other reproduction requires permission. (True of the whole blog, but repeated on some of the stories I like most).