TITLE: Reindeer Pause
AUTHOR: Michelle
DISCLAIMER: Please, don't remind me that I don't own them! I'm already sad enough as it is!
RATINGS: Oh come on, when have I ever written anything over a PG-13? Oh wait, yeah, there was that ONE fic . . .
WARNINGS: Uh, there MIGHT be a bit of sexual references, but nothing explicit. More like double entendres, that sort of thing.
ARCHIVE: At my site.
NOTES/COMMENTS: Yessire, this here's the sequel y'all have been waitin' fer! That's right ladies! The second in what is sure to become a series
with my twisted mind. First one's called "Guess There's One of These in Every Yard". You don't need to read the other one to understand this one
(though, of course, if you want to read the other one, go right ahead!). Once again, this is a little AU-kinda job. Chris and Mary are married
(shut up Georges, I can hear you snickering in there:) but everything else is the same. I guess. I don't know. I hate writing these things!
SUMMARY: Interesting things occur when Chris tries to "spruce up" the house.
Reindeer Pause
Michelle
gnrgirl@hotmail.com
He's done it again. You'd think I'd know better by now than to let him handle the "decorations".
"Oh sure dear. I promise I won't do anything tacky. I have great taste."
Yeah right.
I can feel my mouth unhinge as I turn off the ignition switch and get out of the car. My dear husband and his . . . his fellow conspirators
are hanging off the roof at various angles, drapping lights every which way. That isn't what I mind though. The lights are perfectly fine and
dandy. I can live with the lights. Sure, they're all over the place, but I can deal with that. Really.
It's that monstrocity I can not abide! Oh my stars and garters! Billy was in enough rehab after the flamingo incident. Now he goes and pulls
this stunt.When am I going to learn that I just can't trust him to have any taste?
Well, no. I shouldn't really say that. That isn't exactly fair. He DID buy me that adorable little, uh, outfit from Victoria's Secret for
my birthday. This however does make certain that he won't be seeing that adorable little outfit for quite some time now.Rest assured of that.
He sees me, and grins with all the devious rebellion I'm sure he feels. How can I resist that smile? Cheater. He knows I can never stay mad at
him when he smiles like that.
Then I see what Buck is affixing to the chimney. Oh dear god.
Nope, I was wrong. Even that smile plastered all over his face will not save him this time.
How can I invite people over? They'll take one look at the roof and either die laughing or run screaming. (And I can bet that most will tend
toward the former.) He does this just to piss me off. I know he does.
Okay, Mary. Take a deep breath and walk inside like nothing has happened. Pretend that Santa and his eight "tiny" reindeer are not on your
roof. Pretend that the giant plastic snowman is not in your flowerbed. Just close your eyes and walk away.
The calming technique worked. Really. For about two point five seconds. And then, lo and behold, I opened the front door. Apparently his
decorating skills extend to the interior as well.
No dear, Santa will NOT be getting his cookies tonight.
THE END
AUTHOR: Michelle
DISCLAIMER: Please, don't remind me that I don't own them! I'm already sad enough as it is!
RATINGS: Oh come on, when have I ever written anything over a PG-13? Oh wait, yeah, there was that ONE fic . . .
WARNINGS: Uh, there MIGHT be a bit of sexual references, but nothing explicit. More like double entendres, that sort of thing.
ARCHIVE: At my site.
NOTES/COMMENTS: Yessire, this here's the sequel y'all have been waitin' fer! That's right ladies! The second in what is sure to become a series
with my twisted mind. First one's called "Guess There's One of These in Every Yard". You don't need to read the other one to understand this one
(though, of course, if you want to read the other one, go right ahead!). Once again, this is a little AU-kinda job. Chris and Mary are married
(shut up Georges, I can hear you snickering in there:) but everything else is the same. I guess. I don't know. I hate writing these things!
SUMMARY: Interesting things occur when Chris tries to "spruce up" the house.
Reindeer Pause
Michelle
gnrgirl@hotmail.com
He's done it again. You'd think I'd know better by now than to let him handle the "decorations".
"Oh sure dear. I promise I won't do anything tacky. I have great taste."
Yeah right.
I can feel my mouth unhinge as I turn off the ignition switch and get out of the car. My dear husband and his . . . his fellow conspirators
are hanging off the roof at various angles, drapping lights every which way. That isn't what I mind though. The lights are perfectly fine and
dandy. I can live with the lights. Sure, they're all over the place, but I can deal with that. Really.
It's that monstrocity I can not abide! Oh my stars and garters! Billy was in enough rehab after the flamingo incident. Now he goes and pulls
this stunt.When am I going to learn that I just can't trust him to have any taste?
Well, no. I shouldn't really say that. That isn't exactly fair. He DID buy me that adorable little, uh, outfit from Victoria's Secret for
my birthday. This however does make certain that he won't be seeing that adorable little outfit for quite some time now.Rest assured of that.
He sees me, and grins with all the devious rebellion I'm sure he feels. How can I resist that smile? Cheater. He knows I can never stay mad at
him when he smiles like that.
Then I see what Buck is affixing to the chimney. Oh dear god.
Nope, I was wrong. Even that smile plastered all over his face will not save him this time.
How can I invite people over? They'll take one look at the roof and either die laughing or run screaming. (And I can bet that most will tend
toward the former.) He does this just to piss me off. I know he does.
Okay, Mary. Take a deep breath and walk inside like nothing has happened. Pretend that Santa and his eight "tiny" reindeer are not on your
roof. Pretend that the giant plastic snowman is not in your flowerbed. Just close your eyes and walk away.
The calming technique worked. Really. For about two point five seconds. And then, lo and behold, I opened the front door. Apparently his
decorating skills extend to the interior as well.
No dear, Santa will NOT be getting his cookies tonight.
THE END