Okay. I’m about to reveal my stupidity, my shallowness…. I hated Stonehenge.
You know. Stonehenge? The big rocks? In a circle? In England? I think.
I should know. I was there. Years and years ago. I was a freshman in high school when my parents took me to England for vacation. We visited Stonehenge. It’s what you do. I really, really did not like it one bit. Bor-rrrinnggg. A real snoozer.
I was more fascinated by the round-abouts on the English roadways than ancient Stonehenge. They were far more exciting.
So, for Christmas, Santa, or some naughty elf, put this little “funny” in my stocking.
The Stonehenge stocking stuffer reminded me of the Christmas, early in my marriage, when ThrillCam made some remark that I cooked only chicken. So, for Christmas, what did I get from my family? A 365 Ways to Cook Chicken (or something like that) cookbook and a rubber chicken. My side still splits with laughter when I recall that memory…no, really, I double over…still, to this day…really.
Or, I remember a few Christmases after we went to Tennessee for the Liberty Bowl (1985, Baylor played LSU). While in Memphis, we, of course, visited Graceland–technically, I personally did not enter the compound, but got close enough. Others in the group visited Elvis’ plane, TCB. I think I poked fun of the place and was somewhat unimpressed with the hoopla that surrounded Elvis’ homestead. (Now, don’t write ugly comments imploring me as to how I could hate Elvis. No one said anything about hating Elvis. I just didn’t appreciate Graceland and all that came with it. Although, I did come home with a very sporty pair of sunglasses with “Elvis” written with small rhinestones, in cursive, in the corner of the left lens. We couldn’t pass by the gift shop!)
So, what did I receive that particular Christmas? Love Me Tender Shampoo and Conditioner from my sister. Oh. Ouch. There goes my side again. Splitting….
Needless to say, my family gets a kick out of infusing personal jokes into their gift-giving.
Although, I may scoff at their silliness, their juvenile behavior, something can be said for their sad attempts at humor: I remember the gifts they give.
The same can’t be said about the gifts I give them. I gave my sister the cutest little Scottie dog figurine, this year. (She has a real Scottie, so she likes Scottie dog things.) I just knew I had done really well this year.
She already had two of the exact same dog figurine.
So, while I make fun of their gifts, I’m sort of sad that I’ll have to wait another year to discover what new funnies they decide to purchase as gifts. (I’ll have one or two more items to show you next week. You’re on the edge of your seat, aren’t you? You’re waiting with bated breath, I just know it!)
Okay. So, after working on this post, I decided I should brush up on my ancient rock history. I think I will read that little book that came with my puzzle.
I have nothing else to do, and…
I figure it will cure my insomnia,