I felt like the fluffy cushions of the couch were swallowing me up. They were so big and I was so little, and I was just sinking into them, watching everything happen.
We had just decorating the huge Christmas tree in the living room. The lights were so pretty. Instead of an angel or a toaster on the top of the tree, we put a glow-in-the-dark rubber ducky wearing sunglasses. His name was Cool-Pooper, or at least, that's what Maggie said. Everyone got into a fight about what to put on the top of the tree. Momma and Maggie wanted an angel, but Daddy, Sarah and Dani wanted a toaster. Maggie wanted to be traditional, because Christmas is her favorite holiday (she even gets charitable!). The fight got so huge that people were crying and Dani tried to crucify Maggie to the wall with scissors for being unfaithful to the toaster. So then Maggie realized her idiocy and joined her sisters. But Daddy went with Momma 'cause she started crying 'cause she's pregnant. So finally, Missy went into the bathroom and got the rubber ducky. So now we have a Cool-Pooper on our tree.
So now we were the "Quintessential Non-Screwy American Dream" as Sarah said, sitting around a roaring fire, drinking hot chocolate and eating pickles. I was sitting on the couch, sucking on the pickle and letting my eyes droop. Missy was next to me, biting hers off in chunks. Everyone else was on the floor, and Momma kept smacking someone every few seconds because they were trying to touch the fire. Dani, I think.
Suddenly, Daddy straightened up and muttered something that sounded like, "Bedtime for Bonzo."
I didn't want to go to bed, so I started to whimper. "Samantha," Momma warned as she struggled to stand up. Missy, being the better whiner, got to be carried by Daddy. I had to walk, holding Momma's hand. I was mad. I wanted another pickle, and Sarah's hair was down, begging to be pulled on or chewed on or spit into or something.
But up the long stairs we went, and on the way, Daddy told us a bedtime story about an alien named Bonzo who wouldn't go to bed, so Lord Kimbote abducted him and gave him an anal probe. Momma hit him, but we don't know what anal probes are anyways, so it didn't matter.
So Missy and I were finally in our cribs, lights off, windows shut. "Miss?" I asked.
She made a small noise.
"Ah-liens probe?" I asked.
"Shush," she mumbled, and I hear her light snoring.
I wondered about poor Bonzo. I wondered if an anal probe was the thing the CSM always had in his mouth. Yuck. They stink.
Speaking of stinks, Stiny was honking downstairs and I heard giddy laughter which either implicated intoxication through alcohol or Diet Coke, or else the topic of aliens had come up. I was mad. I always missed the good stuff. At least Momma doesn't eat onions. Who wants another sister though?
Oh well. At least I'm a Mulder.
