"Honey, please don't invite the Okmits this year. She's like sitting next to a sponge salvaged unwashed from an emergency room after a terrible accident. He's proof that there is such a thing as negative I.Q. I'm not evil enough to place a neighbor anywhere near them at the table."
Pamela squished another wrapped gift under their crowded tree.
"We could do a buffet," Lyle teased.
"Chocolate-dipped lizards live and en flambe'. Come as you are. Bring your own forks?" Pamela queried, reaching to rescue a decoration Mandy had swatted to the top of the radiator.
Lyle snorted, keying "NO OKMITS" after "Sago's it. sausage" and "Don Ligoni microbrew" into his phone.
"Mommy, what's an okmit?" Kelly looked up from her game with Trish whiling away her boredom in detention at Ponnerd Hall.
"Why are you using your dad's phone?" Pam countered.
"Mine doesn't have the app Trish has to use."
"An okmit is an edible marsupial that used to be popular dinner food from someplace near Nova Scotia."
"Why can't we have any?"
"They're tricky to cook. Some carry beflo virus and grajli germs. You might get sick."
"We can't have okmit at the party," Kelly messaged.
"Or bourbon truffles," Trish answered.
"Yeah, they made Ikey puke and swear last year."
"I snuck two okmits in my pocket at the last barbecue," Trish confessed.
"Did you get sick?"
"They melted before I got a taste. No," Trish tapped back.
"I'm out," she added. "See ya at the bar."
Original material c. A Country Rag, Inc. and/or Jeannette Harris, Jonesborough Tennessee, April 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, February 2015. All rights reserved.