With word wafting in of snow back home, Mr. Muscato and I head into this festive week planning a quiet holiday. The tree is up, and we got a jump on things (and celebrated the Islamic new year) over our weekend by having people (the crowd we call The Boys, as opposed to The Office People, The Neighbors, or simply Those Awful People You Know) in for yet another in the seemingly endless series of turkeys that Mr. Muscato squirreled away in the freezers during a sale earlier this year. We're now caught up in preparing for the arrival of my longtime chum Miss Rheba, who will descend from the heavens Santa-style on Christmas Eve.
We're not being terribly inventive giftwise, I'm afraid this year; or rather, let me amend that - I'm not being terribly inventive. Still, I don't think I'm in danger of seeing the face a real-life '50s housewife would likely have come up with if faced with a Eureka under the tree, even if Mr. Muscato's gift is rather practical
Family fun fact: yet another of Grandmother Muscato's Indisputable Dicta was that anything other than a Bissell vacuum was vulgar - how she came up with that one, none of us know. But in her world, anyone with an Electrolux or, God forbid, a Hoover, was trash.