Merry Christmas once again from the House of Elle. It has been 7 years since I’ve written a Christmas letter. Of all years this is the one that certainly deserves a wrap-up.
Elle, The Trusty Husband and the Boy were excited to bring on 2017. The previous year was a slow decline into an end of year dumpster fire. 2016 could fuck right off for all we were concerned. We rung in the new year with our traditional cans of MGD. Only this year instead of constructing his usual fortress of solitude the boy elected to build an airplane out of said cans. We only found that slightly odd, but I suppose one has to break with tradition at some point.
January found Elle touching herself rather frequently. It also may have included the phrase, “babe, feel my boobs.” Not one to argue, the Trusty Husband obliged. At this point you are thinking… “Elle, you have a strict rule about not discussing your sex life.” At that you would be correct. I wasn’t feeling myself out of loneliness, trust me. Although with the drunken haze from the previous year one can never be to certain that body parts are still attached.
After a thorough inspection of my boobs the Trusty Husband agreed that 1) yes, they were still attached and 2) there was a little extra something something going on there. He felt a second opinion was needed. Thus began the year of, “Hey, feel my boobs.” No seriously. Have you felt my boobs? Because everyone has.
The second opinion agreed that there was, in fact, a little something something going on. Tests, needles, boob smashing, more people feeling my boobs and BAM!
Cancer.
Shit.
Shit.
Hey let’s take a trip!
Dumpster fire + Cancer = Bali. So we went.
As we boarded the plane the Trusty Husband and I took our seats with the unwashed masses. However, the boy felt that he’d used Flight Simulator enough to know how to fly the plane. Much to his chagrin the Captain wouldn’t give up his seat and felt the boy was better suited to sitting with his parents. We strongly disagreed. There were some nice people 16 rows in front who could have him. Pre-Teen and all. Bali was great. There was aforementioned pre-teen with a fever on a 12 hour flight. There was cranky pre-teen in a forest full of monkeys. There was sick husband in bed. There was Elle yelling at any travel company that would listen to try to get sick husband home. Finally there was disgruntled pre-teen on the flight home because he couldn’t look out the window.
Since the trip was so awesome we are going back next year.
We managed to max out our health insurance out-of-pocket on exactly January 15 so we decided that everyone needed as much medical work done as possible. If cancer of the boobs wasn’t enough, the Boy had is tonsils removed and the Trusty Husband had part of his face shaved off. We were hoping that the tonsil removal would also cut down on the boy’s jabber mouth. That didn’t happen, but he does snore less.
In April we had to take a break from “feel my boobs.” Some doctor came along and cut them off. However, in May a different doctor came along and started making the fake ones bigger. That set off a whole new round of “feel my boobs.” The game is rather fun. Elle regularly asks total strangers to feel her boobs.
In June all of Elle’s hair fell out. We all know how much Elle loved her hair. Let’s move on.
In July the boy demanded that his parents make amends for the center of the plane fiasco as well as not being able to fly the plane debacle. The parents gave in and shoved the child onto an airplane alone and shipped him off to California to see his aunt for a week. Later in the month they shipped him off to another aunt’s house where she said, “have at it kid,” and let him fly a plane. Now she’s the cool one and his parents are nothing but trolls that force him to clean his room and eat a sensible breakfast.
In between the two airplane episodes the House of Elle road tripped to Arizona to vacation on a goat farm. Elle quickly discovered that goat milking is not in her skill set. The boy also announced that he would be saving his money to fly back to the goat farm next summer. Alone. The child would rather do hard labor on a goat farm rather than clean his bedroom.
The trusty parents decided that the boy needed a little extra “discipline” in his life. Not the smack on the ass kind of discipline, but the clean your GD room kind. They enrolled the child in the Civil Air Patrol. The child gets to fly airplanes and mom is happy because the long haired emo pre-teen had to cut his hair.
The House of Elle hosted a few parties this year. Most of them involved Elle greeting guests with, “It’s so good to see you. Feel my boobs.” Not ones to be rude party guests the friends felt her up. Elle’s little black book is fuller than Barney Stinson’s.
October found the trusty parents upgrading to the TEEN model of the child. Odd year models are always full of bugs. This one is no exception. The 13.0 model came with special bonuses such as sassy asshole and leaves shit all over the house. We’ve tried to unplug the device, but there seems to be a long lasting battery back-up. This particular teen model also comes with a female companion unit. The independence feature is nice, but also requires the parents to regularly take the female companion unit home from the mall.
This Christmas we will mostly celebrate at home. We told Grand-dad that he was going to sun therapy in Florida this year. Really it’s just an expensive way to not go to church on Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day Elle and her siblings will switch out Uncle Bob’s oxygen tank for a helium one and give Aunt Penny too many rum balls just to see what happens.
The House of Elle wishes everyone a very festive Christmas and New Year. May your days be merry and high and may your boobs be softer than Elle’s.
