I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas (or whatever it is that you celebrate).
So let me weave a little story for you...it may seem like I'm making some of this up, but I assure you, everything I'm about to tell you is 100% fact. No embellishment.
We have this "friend", we'll call him 'Bob'. Bob, a few years ago, had some sort of brain event. I want to say it was a stroke, but I am not completely sure on that. Whatever it was, left him not running on all cylinders. Physically, he looks and moves like a man of his age and stature (maybe a little slower than he would have - I'd guess he's about 55 or so), but the change is that he's completely lost his social graces.
For instance, last year, he'd invited himself to our family Christmas dinner. No huge deal as the poor man has 2 children, neither of which invited him to their own family dinner. We are glad to have him, because no one should be alone and lonely on Christmas...but yes, he invited himself. People were called in for dinner, and as we all fussed about who needs to sit where, Bob had dug in and started eating. I'm pretty sure he was about half done by the time everyone sat down for grace. After dinner, we opened our gifts, and my Dad had given him a Hillshire Farms basket (I think it was smoked meat, spread, cheese and crackers - a nice gift). Bob took one look at it and announced, quite loudly, "I don't want this." My Dad (probably a little embarrassed) said that he could take it and give it to someone else if he couldn't use it. Bob pushed it away and said, "No". Alrighty, so we awkwardly moved on with our gift exchange, in the middle of which Bob stated that he was ready to go home. My Dad explained to him that we were opening our gifts, and that he'd drive him home in about 20 minutes. "I want to go home now," Bob lamented.
So we put gift exchange on hold and my Dad drove him home.
Fast forward to this Christmas. He'd invited himself again, and we all discussed what sort of stories we'd be able to tell by the end of the night. No one guessed. Not even close.
Bob arrives, about an hour early. He'd walked, and when he was part way to our house, it'd started spitting out. That's a light rain for those who don't understand...I thought that everyone used that phrase, but I'd been made fun of in the past by some of my US friends, so I thought I'd explain. I digress.
Bob walks in, and he's visibly upset. Myself, my Dad, and my two cousins who weren't around last year for the "Bob Experience" but that had been warned, were all in the kitchen at the time.
My Dad asks how his walk over was, being polite. Bob sighs very loudly and says that it was fine until the "downpour" when he was half way to our house, and that made his pants wet. His frustration is understandable, I, too hate having wet pants.
He exclaimed that he "just needed to get them dry" and...no word of a lie...started for his belt. Right there in the kitchen. My Dad said, "Just give me a sec and I'll drive you home." Bob didn't understand why my Dad wanted to drive him home, he'd just gotten there. My cousin clarified that my Dad was going to drive him home so he could change his trousers.
Bob wouldn't hear of that. He said that he was just going to throw his pants in the dryer. Thank goodness my back was to him and I had an excuse to keep my hands busy because I was DYING. I was biting my cheek so hard that it was bleeding.
"Bob, you can't just take your pants off at the party!" my Dad laughs, trying to keep it light.
"Do you have a robe?" Bob asks.
I had to stick my head in the oven and "check the turkey" because I just couldn't keep it together. My Dad insisted on taking him back to his house (thank goodness) and walked him to the door to get him to put his galoshes and coat back on. The second they walked out the door, the entire kitchen erupted into ridiculous laughter.
Yup. Typical Christmas at my Dad's.