Well, it's that time of year...we are heading off soon to the heart of the continent (geography doesn't lie, people) to celebrate Christmas with the family. Before we leave, and in case I don't survive my family, I wanted to take a moment to wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas! I'm blessed and I know it, and you're a big reason for that. So thank you. As a gift, I offer you our ill-fated family photos from 2016. The year was ripe with catastrophes, and our efforts fell into that swath of destruction. What do I normally expect, you ask? A shit-show of some sort, and this year that included:
- The realization that I had not packed any clothes that matched.
- Roddy's "white" shirt not quite surviving a laundry mishap, rendering it a soft pink hue.
- Me barely surviving mom's look of: "I taught you better than that", after said laundry sort.
- Pulling first born out of a barn minutes before photo, wiping manure from his face with my own spit.
- Catching Jimmy doing his own hair (with a shit-ton of gel) just prior to leaving, so (and I quote): "It looks cool like Jack."
What I was not expecting was being photo-bombed by a rather large, and inexeplicably happy golden retriever named Susan, whom happier than a pig in shit, came wandering in and plopped herself down right in the middle of the blanket. As it turns out, she was the only one who could look squarely at the camera for each photo, with a beautiful smile, both eyes open, and behave for 7 minutes. Jesus loves Susan. I love Susan. p.s. who the fuck names their dog Susan
Yes. We have two versions...
I didn't order enough of the first one,
and could not locate my "filed in a very safe place" folder.
AXE, strong hold gel...just in case you're asking for a friend.
Let's have a closer look at that volume, shall we?
Mercifully the 34 degree heat knocked it flat.