Hell for The Holidays

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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This is irrelevant, but I have to share it. About two years ago my mom and I were riding in the car. I had a can of soda that was half full, including some spit. You know, I didn’t want to spit into the wind so I did it in the can. My mom picked it up and took a big drink before I could stop her. She spit soda all over the car as I laughed hysterically. She just brought it up again, making me laugh so hard I almost wet myself. Best story ever.

To my story: Today I boarded a flight before the sun was up, in an effort to be home for the holidays. The lines were quick and the passengers mellow. Everything was great until I realized that I was trapped in the middle of a germ-fest! Everyone around me was coughing and sneezing. It was like being trapped in my own personal hell!

Landing in the fog laden Salt Lake City, I met my mother and my wife for lunch. We had a few beers before deciding to purchase the trademark shirts of Salt Lake. SL,UT. What can be better than a shirt that says slut? My mom and I then left to go fetch my brother. An interesting situation was obviously in the making. My brother and I are not the best of friends.

The strangest thing was where we picked him up, at my grandmother’s house. I haven’t seen my mom’s mom in about 14 years. It was slightly awkward considering all of the family drama that exists on that side. We piled back in the car and my mom decided it would be best for me to drive so she could have a beer. Jealous? Yes I was.

The drive was terrifying for me. I haven’t driven more than a mile at a time in the last two years. Getting in the driver’s seat for a three hour drive on a windy mountain road was definitely rough. I had white knuckles and knots in my back by the time we made it to the house. OY VEY!

It’s starting out tame, but I know the drama s coming. It’s Christmas after all.