Some family holiday meals are as pleasant as playing with an angry grizzly bear.  We don’t do them any more.  Instead, Dear Hubby and I enjoy a quiet meal at home without having to endure in laws or out laws.  We don’t go away for the holidays. 

     For some reason, at certain of these ‘holiday meals,’ Dear Hubby and I found ourselves seated at the children’s table.  Two children sat at the adult’s table because they’d raised a fuss over having to sit with their peers.  We didn’t have kids, we were well over twenty one, but there we were at the kiddies’ table.  (Not a smart thing to do with us.)

     I guessed it was some perverse torture set up by the parents of the spoiled brats…um children.  Therefore, we became the ringleaders of mischief.  Do not leave us to our own devices…you WILL pay.  DH’s specialty is food fights.  He is very subtle and no one has any idea how these battles begin—well, I do but no one else does.

     I specialize in telling bad fart jokes or engaging in other antics that will make milk come out of a child’s nose.  (I warned them not to seat us there.)