(Originally posted on December 11, 2005)
But, baby, it’s Christmas!
It was the kind of apartment you only lived in if you couldn’t afford anything else. Actually, the apartment is a post of its own… It was the crappiest place I ever rented (although it certainly had potential to be fixed up), and believe it or not, it wasn’t rented out by Evil Ivo. Many of you Gainesvillians have probably been there for a party. I know I had; a co-worker and friend of mine (John Marron, and what ever happened to him?) used to live in the matching house next to it. In the year I lived there, I never once had a friend over who didn’t say, upon walking up the stairs, “I think I’ve been to a party here before.” You might know the place? Fringes of the Student Ghetto, second house on the corner of 11th St. and 4th Ave. Walking distance to Gator Beverage, and at the time, Gumby’s Pizza. I was so sorry when they moved across town.
Anyway, it was Christmas morning, 1994. Visions of sugarplums, and all that. The Training Husband and I are starting to wake up, to load the presents in the car and drive to the Aunt and Uncle’s house for the ritual prize present extravaganza.
BANG, BANG, BANG we hear someone attacking a door. It’s not our door; we lived on the second story and always kept the stairwell locked for safety.
BANG, BANG, BANG continues. At this point, we’re awake, and listening intently. It’s coming from the house behind us, and they usually have some spectacular fights.
“Baby, let me in!” we hear him yelling at the door.
“No!” is the curt reply.
“But, baby, it’s Christmas!” he whines, knocking on the door at every syllable.
“I ain’t lettin’ you in dis house!” she yells. What a lovely Christmas morning her kids must be having.
“But, baby, it’s Christmas,” he repeats, in case she didn’t get that the first time.
“I! Ain’t! Lettin’! You! In! Dis! House!” and at this point, the ex-husband and I are chuckling and making no pretense of not listening in.
“But, baby, it’s cold out here!”
“I know you was wit La’Quisha last night, so I KNOW you ain’t DAT cold!”
“I wasn’t wit her, baby! I swear!”
“I know you was wit her ‘cause she dun TOLD ME you was wit her!”
“Okay,” he backs down. “I was wit her, but nuthin happened! I stayed there but I wasn’t WITH her. Now let me in, baby, it’s Christmas!”
“Bull-SHIT,” she shouts out. “I know somethin’ happened because she dun TOLD ME what happened,” she calls him on his shit.
“Well, okay,” he can’t argue. “I was wit her. But I was THINKING of you.”
“You was thinking of me?” she asks, and I have to wonder what kind of woman can fall for such a complete line of crap.
“I swear, baby; I was thinkin’ of you the whole time!”
“Aww, baby, come on inside. I love you!”
And so, this is Christmas.