Mister Bubby (after unceremoniously shoving a stack of books and papers off the couch and onto the floor):  I thought you were going to say, “Was that really necessary?”

Madhousewife:  I’m sorry.  Was that really necessary?

MB:  Yes.

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Yesterday Girlfriend had Lemonheads for breakfast.  Today it’s Moon Pies, which I think is a step up the nutritional ladder, but I guess it depends on your point of view.

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I spent all of yesterday addressing Christmas cards.  I should feel a sense of accomplishment, but instead I feel depressed.  It might be because I used up all but two of them, and those two cards are spoken for–I’m just waiting on the addresses for their would-be owners.  This upsets me because I know that any minute I’m going to remember one or two or ten people that I ought to send Christmas cards–or my husband will remember that he wants to send a Christmas card to so-and-so, even though I’ve asked him three times if there’s anyone not on the Christmas card list who needs to be on the Christmas list, and he’s said, “Not that I know of,” even though every year he adds some new cousin I’ve never heard of (which is only fair, since I add new bloggers he’s never heard of)–and I won’t have any Christmas cards left to send.  I’ll have to go out and buy a new box, and they won’t be as nice because I won’t be able to bring myself to pay full price for the nice ones, but I’ll realize that these new, not-as-nice-but-good-enough but more importantly different cards would have been much more appropriate to send to people I’ve already sent the other cards to because those other cards were the only ones I had and I didn’t have time then to go to the store and get different ones, I just wanted to get the freaking cards out–and I’ll start feeling all awkward and shabby because even though most of the people on my Christmas card list will never see each other’s cards, I will know that most people received one card and a handful of people received this other, lower-tier card, which is not necessarily a reflection of my esteem or lack thereof for those people, I just didn’t remember them in time to send them the nice cards I got for 75 percent off after Christmas last year, and it’ll be just like John Edwards’ two Americas, which is UNFAIR and probably makes Baby Jesus cry.  ON HIS BIRTHDAY.

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Clearly, I need to eat some breakfast.  Too bad I don’t like Moon Pies.

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I picked Mister Bubby up from a play date at his BFF’s house, where they had apparently spent the afternoon making Christmas presents for their teachers.  They’re candles of some sort; don’t expect me to describe them in greater detail because I don’t have the crafting vocabulary for that.  Anyway, MB handed one of the “extra” ones to me.  It was round in shape and had a wick coming out of it.

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Madhousewife:  Oh, cool.  It’s a…bomb?

MB:  Yes.

BFF’s Mom:  Actually, it’s supposed to be a ball ornament, but it came out looking like…a bomb.

Mad (to MB):  Well, just don’t tell your teacher it’s a bomb.

BFF’s Mom:  Well, the teachers aren’t getting the bomb-shaped ones.  Theirs are shaped like trees and stockings.

Mad:  Oh, good.

MB:  But they’re also bombs, Mom.  I put C4 on them.

Mad:  Well, don’t tell your teacher that.

BFF’s Mom:  No.  Let it be a surprise.

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The housekeepers will be here in a couple, three hours, and I still have all these boxes to move.  Adios, amigos!

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