Short Stories To Tickle Your Funnybone (10 page)

As I was driving toward home, I passed the
First Baptist Church and saw numerous workmen
on the front lawn.

“Oh crap,” I thought. “Tonight is the
opening ceremony for the live nativity scene and
I’m supposed to be there with my family.”

You have to understand that in the Burg,
the opening night of the nativity scene is a big
deal. It’s like turning on the Plaza lights in Kansas
City, or lighting the mayor’s Christmas tree. It is
the one singular event that officially launches the
Christmas season in the Burg. EVERYONE is
expected to attend the ceremony. See and be seen.
Merry Christmas.

Some
carpenter
in
years
past
had
constructed a
wooden manger consisting
of a
backdrop, a cradle for the baby Jesus and a small
fenced area for the live animals. A live sheep and
a donkey accompanied life size statues of Mary,
Joseph, the Angel, and three shepherds.

Obviously livestock kept penned up for a
month needed care. This was provided by Moses
Thacker. He was a farmer from upstate New York.
He had retired and moved to the Burg to be near
his
family.
Missing
the
farm
life,
he
had
volunteered to care for the animals, bringing them
food and water and cleaning the stall daily.

Over the
years, the Nativity scene
had
experienced some problems. Vandals of both the
two legged and fourlegged kind couldn’t seem to
leave it alone. City creatures of the night such as
raccoons and large rats were constantly foraging in
the animal’s food and once a possum was found
curled up in the cradle with the Baby Jesus.

Trenton is famous for its population of
taggers: that’s guys who paint things on the side of
buildings and on bridge overpasses. One year the
taggers painted the sheep red and green and hung a
big Christmas bell from its tail.

Old Moses was up to the task. He cordoned
off
a
huge
section of
lawn surrounding the
Nativity and set the area with snare traps. This
area came to be known as the DMZ and anyone or
thing who dared to enter was found the next
morning in Moses’ snares. The critters were carted
off by Animal Control and the taggers were carted
off to jail.

I headed toward home.
Where is home you ask?
Well, it depends. I’m sort of a nomad. I

move around a lot. I rent a small, one bedroom
apartment in a no frills building that I share with
my hamster Rex. I stay there when I want to be
alone. I also have an on again off again boyfriend,
Joe
Morelli. He
has his own house
that he
inherited from his grandmother and I stay there
when I don’t want to be alone. I still have a room
at my parent’s house and I stay there when I’m
hungry
and have
no money
for
food because
Mom’s a great cook. On rare occasions, I have
stayed in the apartment of Ranger, my mentor. It’s
built like a fort and has all kinds of security. I
mostly only staythere when someone’s trying to
kill me. Fortunately, my hamster is portable, so he
goes wherever I go.

At this moment, I’m with Morelli. He’s a
Trenton cop. We both have weird demanding jobs
that make
having
a
regular
life
and schedule
almost impossible, but we’ve learned to adapt.

The only thing that’s set in stone is Friday
night. Joe & I are expected to have dinner at my
parent’s house. If we don’t show, there had better
be a life threatening explanation.

So tonight will be a double whammy. It’s
Friday, so dinner will be at 6:00 sharp and then
we’ll all make our way to the First Baptist Church
for the Nativity ceremony.

Good times!
I went home, jumped in the shower, threw
on some mascara, put a grape in Rex’s cage and
headed for Mom’s house. Morelli was to come
there directly from work.
I pulled into the driveway with Mom and
Grandma Mazur standing
in the doorway. I
sometimes wonder if they ever go anywhere else,
because they’re always there when I arrive.
Mom and Grandma are exact opposites.
It’s hard to believe they’re related. Grandma is a
free spirit. She would have made a great flower
child. Mom, on the other hand, is wound tighter
than a drum. Mom’s life is ruled by what’s the
proper and respected way of doing things and
Grandma couldn’t give a rat’s ass.
Dad is just Dad. Living with these polar
opposites has taken its toll over the years and he
has retreated into a
lifestyle consisting
of his
meals, his newspaper and the TV. When he just
can’t take it anymore, he has a part time job
driving
a
cab
to get him
out of the house.
Occupational therapy, I guess.
Morelli came in right behind me. It was
five minutes to six and all was well. We took our
seats and Mom and Grandma brought in the pot
roast, potatoes, green beans and slaw and we all
dug in.
“Well, what’s been going on around here,”
I
asked,
trying
to
initiate
some
dinner
conversation.
“I baked a coffee cake yesterday,” Mom
said. “It was my refreshment day at the Garden
Club.”
Dad just grunted and dug into his mashed
potatoes.
“I had a great day yesterday,” Grandma
chimed in. “Beulah and I went shopping in the
afternoon and I bought me one of those thong
things. I thought if I could wear one of those, it
might make old Ernie down at the Senior Center
come to life. I came home and tried it on and the
damn
thing
got
stuck
in
my
crack.
Most
uncomfortable thing I ever wore. So I took it back
and traded it in for a pushup bra.”
I
shuddered at the mental image
of
Grandma’s saggy boobs in a push-up bra.
I heard Dad mutter, “Jesus H. Christ.”
Grandma wasn’t done yet. “Then last night
we went to Stiva’s for Edna Zarinski’s viewing. It
was a real hoot. Edna was a Red Hat lady and all
her friends showed up in red hats. They were real
pretty. I may have to get me a red hat. Scooter had
baked Snickerdoodles cause they were Edna’s
favorite. Those boys really know how to have a
wake. Them cookies were good, so Beulah and I
snuck a few in our purses.”
Grandma sure knows how to have fun.
Dinner finally came to an end. There were
no disasters and everyone
left the table
still
speaking to each other, so for my family, it was a
success. We decided to hold dessert till later as the
Nativity ceremony started promptly at 7:00. We
certainly wouldn’t want to be late.
We all piled into the car and headed to the
First Baptist Church. We
should have
started
earlier as a huge crowd had already gathered and
was pressing against the rope to the DMZ. No one
wants to miss this event.
Even the Presbyterians showed up.
Fortunately, we
have
Grandma Mazur.
With her many years of elbowing her way to the
open casket to view the body, she has developed a
technique for
parting
a
crowd and worming
through. She always gets dirty looks, but who’s
gonna hassle on old lady?
So Grandma did her thing, pulling all of us
behind her in single file until we reached the rope
barricade.
And there in all its glory was the First
Baptist Church live Nativity Scene. Flood lights
shone on the Holy Figures and the livestock. City
Fathers
were
present
to
pontificate
on
the
significance of the event and the Pastor of the First
Baptist Church stood proudly looking on.
Suddenly a collective gasp went up from
the onlookers. I craned my neck to see what had
diverted everyone’s attention and my eyes were
immediately
drawn to
the donkey
that was
obviously a male.
It was at this most inopportune time that he
had apparently become aroused and his schlong
was extended so far it almost dragged the ground.
In school there was a boy who the other
kids nicknamed ‘Donkey Dick’. At the time, in my
innocence, I thought it was an insult. Actually, I
guess it was more of a compliment.
“Wow ain’t that a pip,” Grandma
exclaimed. I wish old Ernie had one like that. I’d
spend a lot more time at the Senior Center if he
did. I might even wear that thong even if it does
go up my crack.”
Mom crossed herself and Dad just shook
his head.
As if that weren’t enough action for one
ceremony, the sheep suddenly
hunched back,
bleated, and dropped a load right there in the
Manger.
Little
girls giggled. Boys hooted. The
elders were appropriately shocked.
Happy Holidays! Christmas had officially
started in the Burg.