This limbo will last until the second or third week of January when the networks return from their extended holidays and figure out the population doesn’t want to sit and watch crap soap operas with actors who can’t act or celebrity talent shows with contestants who are neither celebrated or blessed with any kind of talent. Instead we make our own entertainment that usually involves ad hoc family eating competitions. At least, it would have been if the wife hadn’t handed over the cooking duties to her mother.

    Rather than making an evening meal, mother-in-law made a buffet that was spread out across the dining table. She somehow managed to choose every single type of food that no one else liked but were particular favourites of hers. I politely declined to partake in any of it, opting instead for a couple of beers and a packet of onion rings.

    Mother-in-law took this as a personal attack against her tastes and informed me:

    “Don’t be so picky, if you were starving you’d eat it”

    Stupid cow.

    This is a particularly brainless thing to say. If anyone were malnourished to the point of starvation it stands to reason they’d eat more or less anything. However, I’m not malnourished and I’m not on the point of starvation. It is not therefore, unreasonable to expect food that the majority of prospective diners actually likes. Working on this principle I shall personally devise a menu and lovingly prepare a meal for her tomorrow.

    So far I have decided on a starter of lightly grilled toenails with pureed slugs followed by a main course of baked cat shit nestling on a bed of raw snot. To make it more appetising I might garnish it with an earwax and dog piss sauce.

    I’m sure when she’s hungry enough she’ll tuck in.

    After enjoying some of her favourite snacks (alone) mother-in-law slumped in a chair and had a quiet doze. It was at this point I really started to enjoy Christmas for the first time.

    The cat had curled up asleep on the back of the chair directly above her head but the pressure of her weight against back cushion made the cat’s resting place considerably less stable than it was before she sat down.

    As if in slow motion, the cat slid from it’s makeshift bed and fell onto the mother-in-law’s head.

    A startled cat dug it’s claws in to her skull as she sprang up from the chair waving her hands around like she had an electrified bat caught between her ears. Needless to say I thought it was hysterical. I would have explained the situation but I was too busy rolling on the floor holding my stomach.

    I wasn’t in a position to explain anything.

    In moments of extreme hilarity I find myself performing something called the “asthma laugh”. This was such an occasion.

    My brain tells my mouth that I should be shrieking with hilarity but my mouth is telling my brain it can’t cope with anything else before it overloads. The only noise to come from my lips is therefore a soft wheezing breath. I’ve lost the power of movement in my legs and I can’t see properly because tears are streaming down my face.

    It might have come a day late but it was one hell of a Christmas present.

    I only managed one freeroll today and that was anything but a source of jollity. I’d managed to accumulate nearly 10,000 chips before a very rapid trip to the toilet was needed which meant Mrs. Snowman took over while I was gone. Even though she was under strict instructions to fold anything less than pocket aces, when I got back I found my chip stack had dwindled to just less than 2,000. Even though I was able to pull a few back again I was fighting to stay afloat. It was to my credit that I held out to finish in the top 130 and won a measly 10c. Oh well, better than nothing.

    Tomorrow sees another day with a completely full house so I’m not sure how many freerolls I’ll be able to take part in whilst I’m sat in the middle of the chaos. I may be able to reduce this number by one with a thought I’ve relating to mother-in-law’s earlier contact with the cat. When she’s asleep tonight I’m going to lay a trail of cat food up the stairs to her bedroom door. At the optimum moment I’ll open the door, kick the cat inside and let them fight it out together.

    Tonight I shall dream soundly.

Starting bank:  $0