Keep calm and...carry a big stick

Anxiety Dream #1

Fauxhawk wakes up, turns over and mutters, Please don't kill the babies.

In his dream, we are at an Indian wedding and there is a groaning board of meat. Upon further inspection, the meat is actually baby meat - the flesh of human infants. Because that's how the Injuns roll, dawg.

Anxiety Dream #2

It's not a dream, actually, but a vision that I've had several times in the last week. In this vision, my ass is grabbed by about 30 different men in the crowded streets of Delhi. On the 30th time, I turn into Mothra and elbow the guy in the face, breaking his nose. There is blood. I am snarling like Ivan Drago from Rocky IV.

* * *

Fauxhawk's sweet parents are in town from Maine and I've invited them to my parents' annual Christmas Eve throw-down, where a cast of thousands will gather to drink extremely strong punch. This first parental meet-up has me a bit stressed out - I will, no doubt, lapse into trying to manage things, and then end up in the punch bowl. Let's hope that no one spontaneously bursts into Broadway show tunes or shuffles off to Buffalo. I think that might be a bit much for the first visit, though Fauxhawk assures me his parents will join in.

We leave for India the day after Christmas and have done as little as humanly possible to prepare. Fortunately, we procured a tee-pee and some wampums, so I think we'll be OK for the first few days in Mumbai.

* * *

Merry Christmas, kids.