My girlfriend, Emily, sent me a text regarding her family’s Christmas Eve dinner: "Dress festive! My parents are very traditional."
I took this as a challenge.
I arrived at their mansion wearing a sweater that was a fire hazard. It featured a 3D Rudolph with a blinking red nose and actual jingle bells sewn into the sleeves. When I walked, I sounded like a sleigh crash.
I kicked the front door open and yelled, "MERRY CHRISTMAS, YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!"
Silence.
I looked around.
It was a candlelight dinner. Emily’s father was wearing a tuxedo. Her mother was in a floor-length silk gown. A string quartet was playing Mozart in the corner.
"Traditional," I realized in horror, meant Victorian Aristocracy, not Ugly Sweater Party.
I stood there, a blinking neon neon nightmare, while the string quartet slowly stopped playing. My Rudolph nose blinked: On. Off. On. Off.
Emily’s father, a terrifying man with a monocle, stood up slowly. He walked toward me. I prepared to be thrown out a window.
He stopped inches from my face, staring at my chest.
"Is that..." he whispered, pointing at Rudolph, "...fleece lined?"
"Yes, sir," I squeaked.
He turned to his wife. "Martha! I told you! It is possible to combine style and comfort!"
He immediately ripped off his tuxedo jacket. Underneath, he was wearing a t-shirt that said GANGSTA WRAPPER with a picture of a hip-hop Santa.
"Thank God," he sighed, patting my shoulder. "I thought I was going to be the only one. Let's eat."
Stake id: gerry213
