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It’s rare that our lot have an abundance of Christmas miracles, but The Mom’s correct in her assessment of the situation. However, she did miss out that I’ve not yet died from the hideous cold/flu cum free gift from Air Canada. Which I feel is fairly impressive.

L’il Sis and I had agreed, along with her Fiancé, that we would do our utmost to Be Jolly and Have Fun over Christmas as Crazy D was going to be celebrating in the Caribbean with his girlfriend. She and I schemed and made all manner of plans, to ensure that The Mom didn’t fall into something of a melancholic mood, wandering aimlessly around the house in her new pjs, wine bottles dropping behind her, lamenting the fledging of her only son.

Unfortunately, my cold/flu/mild to severe death sort of put a damper on those plans (which were fairly sketchy to being with) and so it was that I spent a lot of time asleep until L’il Sis and Fiance arrived. And even then, I had to keep a wide berth from them lest I infect L’il Sis (who is on the immunosuppressants and so is not the sort of person who takes kindly to extra germs).

They arrived and we sat down and were chatting in the living room when she said something along the lines of, “So, you guys haven’t checked your email yet, huh?”

I perked up in the same way the dogs do when someone says biscuit.

“What email?”

“The one from Crazy D,” she said in that fake-casual way she has where she knows she’s got one over on you and isn’t sure exactly how she wants to play it: announce it herself or let you work it out on your own.

In a rare burst of speed (and frankly, movement) I lurched upstairs to grab my laptop (as it was Christmas The Mom prefers that all manner of computers are left away from arm’s reach so as not to be used and disrupt Family Time).

I was checking email as I ran back down the stairs.

“He’s coming home!” I believe I screeched.

L’il Sis nodded looking as pleased with herself as though she’d been the one to orchestrate the whole thing. “And I love him so much that I’m going to drive to the airport tomorrow and pick his ass up.”

“No,” I said, wide-eyed with disbelief (in part because nobody really wanted to pick me up this year).

“Uh huh,” she said, nodding and pretending to shoot herself in the head.

“Oh, I’ll come,” I volunteered.

“No one wants to be in an enclosed space with you and your germs, also you are not great at the highway and therefore of little to no use,” she said firmly.

“Yes, but I am very familiar with the airport and most points of exit,” I countered. I mean, if there was going to be a Christmas road trip shit show adventure extravaganza, I was totally riding shot gun on that.

“This is true,” she said, considering that I might be able to add to the bits of her knowledge that were perhaps… frail.

The Mom, though, disinclined to let us have what could be a hilarious adventure on the highway on Christmas Day on our own, piped up, “I’ll volunteer to pay for the car to bring him here.”

And before she even finished her sentence, L’il Sis said, “Sold!”

And then everyone looked at me with this look that says, “Okay we have made the decision now you fix it because you are equipped to cope with this sort of pedantic form filling in and general cajoling of other people.”

So after a series of international text messages, emails, and whatever-elses I got his flight information and began calling. The first place I phoned had a space in a car leaving the airport at the right time but Crazy D wanted to stop at his place in between The Mom’s and the airport, and the first car service wasn’t having any of that. Too short a ride to make it worth their while. They put me on to another service that didn’t have a car leaving the airport until 8pm (and Crazy D was landing at 4pm). I didn’t even need to ask anyone, I knew that an 8pm pick up was not the right answer.

The guy on the end of the phone though, he asked for my name and number because he said if he could get his manager on the phone (I mean, where’s the guy’s work ethic, sure it’s Christmas Eve but people need picking up!), he wanted to put on another car at a time that would work.

But I wasn’t about to take the chance. Crazy D was coming home and he needed to be delivered here promptly upon landing. Thus, I made the executive decision that he would not be stopping at his en-route, and would just have to deal with it. I actually imagined he was wearing only shorts and a t-shirt and was fairly surprised when he turned up in jeans and a sweater.

And after he arrived and we were all delirious with delight and joy, we sat down to eat dinner than none of the dogs had eaten when we weren’t looking.

The excitement of it all though, coupled with my hideous disease, took it out of us and the only really unusual thing was that nobody had the energy to eat The Mom’s pie that night. Instead we had it for breakfast. And just as well too, because the freakishly early departure time that L’il Sis had planned for the following morning didn’t work out because the roads were covered in ice (seriously, people were skating) so we had time enough to leisurely eat the pie and drink coffee and bother each other as usual. Which is really all one wants at Christmas.

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