The First Half of Christmas

Christmas has come with a flurry of opening presents and kissing my wife softly on her lips. She enjoyed the paintings I bought her for the nursery, and the blue sapphire pendant, although the chain was too short. (Incidentally, I like the word “sapphire,” for the unexpected bonus p that nobody bothers to pronounce.) Meg got me a nice digital camera (a Cannon Powershot) and a lot of little other thoughtful things.
Breakfast ensued at the IHOP near our old apartment. I wore jeans, a nice yellow shirt Meg had gotten me a while ago, and my grey tennis shoes. When Meg’s family arrived, Ryan motioned to me to zip up my fly. My cheeks turned red and I fumbled at the zipper, hoping that Meg’s 90 year-old grandmother sitting directly behind me hadn’t noticed. Or anyone else for that matter.
This reminds me—I need to lose weight. I never used to struggle with my fly back when I could actually see it without sucking in my gut. Eat less and exercise more. C’mon Oliver, you can do it.
Richie, one of the IHOP servers, helps every Christmas ever since the family started going to the restaurant for Christmas morning family breakfast. He wore flashing Christmas lights around his collar and took everyone’s order with promptness. Judging from his high pitched voice and mannerisms, he ranks about a 7 on the gay scale. When he was delivering a plate of food, he lisped, “Over hard, with sausage.” I tried to contain my glee.
I ordered two eggs (over easy for me), hash browns, two sausage, and French toast with strawberries. I set my insulin pump setting to “The Most.” Meg ordered the same thing, except with extra bacon, and without strawberries. I instantly regretted ordering sausage while bacon was available, but kept quiet about my poor decision. When the food arrived, I attacked mine with gusto, trying to forget the lost bacon opportunity.
Meg’s family seemed more subdued than yesterday. I felt like I was being juvenile with my jokes, and occupied myself with drinking six cups of coffee. I asked Meg’s mom what she got for Christmas, to which she replied that she hadn’t opened her presents yet. Later I asked Ryan what he got Kat, and received the same answer.
Meg’s new necklace drew my eyes to her neck. The pendant’s heart-shaped, with one diamond on the side, twisted white gold, and the sapphire in the middle. When I bought it, the necklace reminded me of an anatomical heart, which is Meg’s more favorite things to deal with at work. I tried to not think of touching her neck, since we were at the breakfast table with all her extended family. The smooth curves, the warm pulse, the freckles. I imagined nibbling at it just a little bit, and then forced my attention back to my French toast.
“I’m trying to eat slower,” Meg said. “I feel more full that way.” She cut her toast up into small pieces and stabbed one with her fork.
“Good idea,” I replied, trying not to inhale my food. The hash browns were regrettably gone by that point. I spent a few minutes wondering why potatoes were so delicious. Bless the Aztecs for inventing them, and Sam Gamgee for thinking of so many ways of cooking them.
Cards were handed out from Meg’s grandparents. Kat was given a card addressed to “Cat.” My card misspelled my name too, but I didn’t care. It’s nice to get presents from grandparents again. I found a $50 bill inside. I turned around and thanked them, but I don’t think they heard me. (Random fact: Ulysses S. Grant’s middle initial doesn’t stand for anything—Grant just thought it sounded dignified to have a middle initial of S. His full name was Hiram Ulysses Grant.)
Off to bed with Meg when we got home. She works tonight, in the Hospital: Christmas ICU holiday special. I imagine all her patients will be suffering Christmas-related illnesses, like reindeer fever, explosive eggnog epilepsy, Christmas tree elbow, or mitral valve prolapse.
I got home and experimented with my fully charged camera. The purple hummingbird was sitting on his usual branch on the citrus tree in front of the kitchen window, preening himself. I’m pretty sure he’s a Costa’s Hummingbird (Calypte costae). Their habitat extends from the Southwestern U.S. down to the Baja California Peninsula in Mexico. They have small cup-shaped nests made of plant fibers and down and coated with lichen to hold it together, which they situate on a yucca stalk or a tree limb. I think my garden’s hummer is single for now, though. I hope he decides to build in his tree come this spring.

Hummer, through a Pane of Glass