Friday, December 4, 2009
My Sister Married a Yeti
What is a Yeti? A Yeti is a bigfoot, a sasquash, a big hairy man beast from the woods.
And yes, my sister married one. This is my third sister, referred to as my Third Sister from now on to keep life simple and me out of small claims court.
Her hubby, the Yeti, is tall with a full beard. The beard extends around his neck and down his belly in a festive pelt to keep him warm in the winter months. I know from a horrifying experience that involved a shorty robe and a loose belt, the body hair extends everywhere. Absolutely everywhere.
But the Yeti can't help the body fur. That's just the nature of a Yeti.
What he can help is the sweaty rope sandals with the yellow toenails hanging over the edge. Click, click,click just like a dog on concrete when he walks. Those nails...click, click, click.
He could also be gainfully employeed but my sisters rarely marry or date the employable. What's sad is that the Yeti has a law degree. Sis put him through real estate school, built him a labratory to experiment in. Experiment on what I have no idea.
I don't want to know.
When the cops show up, I want plausible deniability.
So you think, he spends all day at home, doing what he wants without even having to do housework, you think he'd at least be romantic. You know grease the marital wheels but no, not him.
He bought my sister floor mats for her birthday last year. Floor mats. How...wonderful?
This year he bought her a fixer-upper sports car. My sister is a tiny woman with a bad back, sniff knees. He loves working on cars. I wonder who that gift was for. Exactly.
I suggested she get him a body wax for his birthday. Sis thought I was kidding.
But no family member is perfect without a lobadomy and the drooling gets on my nerves so you learn to live with the occassional quirk in a relative. That's life.
What kills me is that on holidays, he brings a giant tome of some forgotten lore and spends the day with his nose buried in the book, ignoring the whole family.
Why can't I do that?
You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this. Well, who else can I tell? My family already knows. And I'm sure he loves me as much as I love him. Is my sarcasm showing? I hope not. I work so hard at being subtle...LOL.
Family is family.
But still when I hear the click, click, click of his nails on the floor, I do close my eyes, in case he has on the shortie robe.
No need for me to see the South Pole.
This Christmas I'm buying him a life time suppy of boxers...and maybe a body brush.
Would that be rude? Probably.
I do need to get started on my Christmas shopping and then my mother's. Geez. Did you hear a click? I thought so.
I'm out of here.