Boxing
Day, 2013
Whether you are in a country where this
official holiday is observed, servants receive presents from their employers,
or not, you can have the day off, as far as I am concerned. I am celebrating by
giving my Self a gift of not working, day to relax, sleep late and spend oodles
of time with my family. Cousins who don’t get to visit frequently take off
sledding, after the scrumptious meal of home spun raviolis, made way to the
nearest bowling alley for some fun.
The adults drink wine and catch up on
humorous stories about work. One woman has a part-time job at the local dry
cleaners and we rolled around the room, cackling until our sides ache. Poor Mrs
Hussey was the brunt of our cheer, who suffers from terrible incontinence, bringing
in her stained pant to be laundered. As if the teen girl behind the counter
could relate to a sneeze attack followed by urinating in her drawers. The
employee had the look of terror on her face as she took in the damaged slacks. This
led to countless customer tales of odd stains and horrific accidents due to
loose bowels or uncontrollable vomiting spells. Remind me never to apply for
work at a dry cleaning establishment. I would be chortling all day and never
want to leave the front counter, not even for a bathroom break.
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