Christmas Letter - Revisited

December, 2008

 Dear family and friends,

After Jen hit “print” on that 90-page honors project in May, I thought life would be easier. Right. We moved back home, and three days later, it was business as usual.

Most days, Jen has three to ten web pages running simultaneously. We also spend excessive time fixing commas in documents and typing commentaries on topics in education.

Occasionally I get so overloaded that I don’t have the energy to load another email. I suppose Jen gets the hint; she stops typing and cracks open a dictionary-sized book with a British or Russian name on the spine. But then, even after the workday ends, she’s back to French or Latin language study websites or writing on her two personal “blogs.”

Don’t forget the grad school applications. Eight, to be exact. As if four years weren’t enough, Jen wants to go back to school for another five to seven so she can teach other young adults about books that are thicker than the old Pride and Prejudice on VHS. Thankfully, she put the apps in the mail last month, so I don’t have to look at another existential exploration of her life purpose. In the evenings—

—How would you know? You start virus-scanning yourself at five and don’t have a spare byte of RAM for the next ten hours.

—You’re one to talk! You’re just a shoe!

—Go defragment yourself. I’m telling this part.

You see, I’m a dancing shoe.  I spin.  I twirl.  I waltz, swing dance, contra dance, and even throw in an occasional tango or salsa step. In Jen’s case, I travel along to late-night IHOP visits, and I help Jen make friends while she’s living at home, even if it involves getting her very, very dizzy.

—Umm, aren’t you forgetting something?

—Are you talking to me?

—Do you see another car with amazing gas mileage?

Who do you think gets Jen back and forth and everywhere else at three a.m.?  With so many people getting married this summer, it was all I could do to make it to the next oil change!

—I don’t see your keys wearing off from—

—If my steering wheel was as twitchy as your touchpad, I’d—

—Why do you two think people go dancing—to get away from you!

—WHY YOU—YOU—YOU—

……………………

** Massive smackdown ensues between computer, dance shoe, and car. Outcome unknown. Results TBA next year. Merry Christmas.**