It was two days before Christmas and I was sick enough to stay in bed. I was divorced and the guy I was seeing at the time was at my house to help take care of my kids. They weren’t really listening to him as he was trying to get them to calm down and go to bed. He tried asking nicely, they ignored him. Arguing with them wouldn’t work. Finally he resorted to threats.
“If you don’t shut up and go to sleep I’m going to call Santa Claus and tell him you’re being bad,” I heard from their bedroom.
There was a groan from one kid and my daughter started apologizing. My oldest son, being the most like me, asked a simple question. “Oh yeah, what’s his number?”
The moral of the story? Laughing hurts when you’re that sick.