Party On, Duds!

Recently my family attended a Christmas party hosted by my husband's cousin.  You know a party is going to be epic when you pull up to the house and the R.A. roars from the back seat, "No, please!"

Despite his reluctance we managed to remove the R.A. from the car.  I then dragged him up the rather long and steep walkway.   Ever the multi-tasker, while we lumbered up the walkway the R.A. simultaneously attempted to dig his heels into the pavement, wrench himself out of my grasp, chin my hands viciously, and holler with rage.  All part of his demure announcement, "I say, gentlemen and good ladies, we are here.  Let the festivities commence.  Now bring us some figgy pudding!"

Once we crossed the threshold the R.A. made to bolt from me but I clung valiantly onto his hood while he galloped up and down hallways and in and out of rooms.  I'm sure we looked like a very strange version of a rodeo act.  The hostess appeared and suggested we take the R.A. up to her son's room because he has a mini trampoline.  Using his hood like a horse's reins, I guided the bucking bronco up to the second floor.  Once we hit that top step the R.A. again tried to make a break for it.  Luckily the time at the gym is really paying off and I was able to keep hold of him.  We lurched and stumbled down the hall and in and out of various bedrooms.  Eventually I was able to get the R.A. into the correct bedroom and pointed out the trampoline. (Normally the R.A. is a huge trampoline fan.  He likes to utilize his own trampoline to scale his father's dresser.)  Of course today he ran immediately past the trampoline and into the nearby closet from which I had to wrangle him.  This so enraged the R.A. that he emitted a shriek like a Braveheart warrior, vaulted onto the bed, and began ricocheting all over it.  I chased him around the bed, managed to snatch him and tried to again interest him in the trampoline.  Despite his yowlings the R.A. did step up onto the trampoline.  Unfortunately this was but an ingenious dupe and after a few tiny hops he jumped off the trampoline and skittered out of the room.  Luckily we still had on our winter coats and as I hotfooted after him I was able to snag his hood.  At that moment my husband appeared and stupidly asked how it was going.  Because this is a family blog I will omit my response.  Let's also just say that fortuitously for him I do not carry a firearm.

The R.A. and I again cantered through a few bedrooms before I was able to haul him into the bathroom.  I only chose this spot because it didn't have a bed for him to hurtle himself all over and in addition, I needed a moment to catch my breath.  As we both relaxed on the bathroom floor, the R.A. paused his furious caterwauling and took in the bathroom.  It quickly registered where we were and he immediately began disrobing because there was a shower and isn't that what one does?  I yelled, "No! No! No!" to which the R.A. replied, "No! No! No!"  We then engaged in a quick match of Greco-Roman Baby Wrestling as I attempted to put clothing items back on the R.A. while he simultaneously removed them.

Finally the R.A. accepted that there would be no shower and flounced out of the bathroom a la Joan Crawford.  No doubt he was livid at having been so unceremoniously manhandled.  I chased him down the stairs where we were once again met by the hostess who asked if I wanted anything.  So traumatized by the experience was I that I answered, "What I really want is to go home."

The hostess then suggested we try the rec. room in the basement because it had a lot of video games.  The R.A. really isn't much of a gamer but by now he was so desperate to leave that he was opening and closing random doors in an attempt to find the exit. The rec. room it was.

Down the R.A. and I tromped to the basement where were joined by my husband. There the R.A. proceeded to rail against me, my mother, and probably most of humanity.  Pacing back and forth he raged while wildly gesticulating.  All that rage created a powerful appetite and he demanded  chips which grievously were not provided for him immediately if not sooner which only lent credence to his position that his parents were useless imbeciles.

At this point I told my husband that there was no need in both of us being the R.A.'s whipping boys so why didn't he head up to the actual party.  My husband didn't even complete an insincere, "Well, if you're sure..." before he bounced up the stairs with an agility that was astonishing for someone with a bum knee and sporting a cane.

The R.A continued to pace and roar while also breaking Pringles up into tiny pieces, consuming some bits and grinding others into the rug with his heel.  We had another wrestling match when he insisted on tossing out his Pringles container into a toy box and I had the nerve to retrieve it.  Four times.  Finally I just hid the container in my coat pocket after which I was finally able to take off my coat.

Eventually the R.A. tired of this location and sprinted up the stairs with his captor in hot pursuit.  I chased him through the kitchen and into the  family room.  He came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the room and let out a few good caterwauls as if testing the acoustics.  The few people that were in the room retreated to the perimeter. Ultimately they did make their escapes.

The R.A. further acclimated himself to his most recent environment by doing wind sprints, charging at and tackling the furniture, and flicking at the Nativity set which was located on a window seat.  All this activity did further increase his appetite and he barked for more chips.  At this juncture my husband had joined us enabling me to head back down to the basement to retrieve the R.A.'s supplies.  As I descended the stairs I did briefly entertain the idea of slipping out a back door but then remembered that my husband had the car keys.  Alas, I was also prevented from hoofing it due to inadequate footwear.  Curses! Foiled again!

Dutifully I returned to the family room with the R.A.'s food.  The R.A. then devoted his attention to arranging his Pringles container and juice box very precisely on the floor.  Then, for good measure, he energetically flicked his fingers and yowled over the juice and chips.  Finally satisfied with his work the R.A. resumed pacing and caterwauling, occasionally pausing to peer out the window as if waiting for his ride to come.

This routine was rigorously and scrupulously repeated.  Of course my husband and I were lulled into a false sense of security and we let our guards down.  We stopped hovering.  At that moment the R.A. lunged at the Nativity set and attempted to abscond with St. Joseph (rather apropos as it is his middle name.)  Much to his dismay the R.A. was thwarted by his father.

Grudgingly the R.A. returned to pacing, mewling, and grinding Pringles into the floor.  After a while he tried to push his father out of the room while ordering, "No, please!  Go!"  Obviously what the R.A. meant was: "You see, I do not like having both of you in the room so Daddy-Guy, you must go.  True, your speed is greatly diminished since the appearance of your cane but you are still the only one who can pick me up.  Mommy-Lady, however, due to her rigorous gym workouts has the speed.  Together you can be remotely competent and therefore capable of impinging upon my plans.  Together you are like a very pathetic super hero team sort of like a Zan and Jayna but unbelievably lamer."

Well, we may be lame and dim but after a while even we learn our lesson and sometimes don't immediately forget whatever lesson we just learned.  Based on the R.A.'s desperation to get rid of his father we figured something dastardly was surely afoot so we stuck to him like Thomas the Tank Engine stickers.

Thankfully the remainder of our time passed without further major incident.  We stayed in our current position in the family room and good St. Joseph remained unmolested.

The R.A., however, did exact his vengeance.  The following morning he was awake at 4:30 AM loudly demanding to be liberated from his room.  My husband retrieved him and the R.A. promptly dashed into the bathroom and insisted on having a shower.  He and his father then engaged in a heated exchange over why the R.A. would not be showering at such a Kitchen-God forsaken early hour.  In a fit of rage the R.A. stomped into our bedroom and proceeded to spend the next hour jumping in and out of our bed, barking out orders for various food items, barking out orders for changes in the selection of DVD in the mini player, and barking out orders that we unlock and open our bedroom door so that he could no doubt pillage the rest of the house.  As you can imagine it was a wonderfully relaxing time.

After about an hour the R.A. decided enough was enough and that he really did need a shower and promptly vomited on the floor and on the edge of our bedspread. Moments later as he jumped up and down in the shower he cackled in delight as any true evil dictator worth his salty Pringles would.