‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except me and my spouse.

The stockings were empty, no presents were wrapped, we were way behind schedule and our resources tapped.  The children were nestled all snug in the beds,while the horrors of assembling danced in our heads.

Dad armed with a screwdriver, ready and poised to build a red trike for one of our boys.   When off in the hall there arose a strange noise, we dove over boxes to hide all the toys.

The thud, it turned out, was our dumb puppy Paul who was chasing the cat and ran into the wall.  Back to his task, Dad cursed at his mess.  I suspect he was lost, but he’d never confess.

 He wrestled with parts and fumbled with tools, e-mailed the manufacturer and called them all fools.  After hours of struggle, the bike finally took shape,  with a few cuts and bruises and the aid of duct tape. 

He stood back and gaped at the bike he just built.  It weaved and it wobbled and rolled with a tilt. 
His frustration grew; his voice shook as he spoke.   “The directions are Greek, it’s all a sick joke”  At this point he snapped, his thinking unclear.  He’ll do something stupid; this was my big fear.

He grabbed each toy’s instructions, oh why won’t he learn.  Tossed them into the fire, chanting "burn baby burn”   “Burn Disney, burn Huffy, to blazes with you.  Burn Fisher Price, Playskool and Hasbro, too”   As smoke filled the room, this was his first clue that in his haste, he had neglected the flue.  To the top of the mantle, to the top of the wall, a black cloud developed and ash settled on all.

Soot landed on stockings and covered the tree and gave a look of charcoal to all we could see.  The firemen came, dressed in yellow, like sun.  Seems the neighbors saw smoke and dialed 9-1-1. 
Out came the axe, out came the hoses, out came a Dalmatian who trampled my roses.

“There’s no trouble here,” I swore up and down realizing this faux pas would soon be ‘round town “My husband’s a good man,” I tried to explain  “The instructions weren’t clear. It drove him insane”
The fire chief nodded and gathered his crew, hopped onto their truck and away they all flew.

But I heard them converse as they drove out of sight,  “Her husband’s the third jerk who’s done that tonight!”

By Kellie Head (c) 1999

About the Author : Kellie Head is a freelance humorist, Parenting Humor Editor for Netscape