Screw the figgy pudding!

This is a true story. No embellishment. No histrionics.

Now the goose is on the table
And the pudding made of fig
And the blue and silver candles
That would just have matched the hair in grandma’s wig

Every great story has meat on a stick. This story is no exception. I love skewers.

Long story short, I’ve known my wife for seven years now. For most of those years we have traveled to her uncle’s for Christmas. The first time there we stayed in a Super 8 motel. Directly across the street was a strip mall with a restaurant excitingly labeled “Kabobs.”

I wanted to go. Bad.

Alas, my wishes were vetoed and quashed by She Who Must Be Obeyed. She said no. I think her exact words were something along the lines of, “We’re here to spend time with family. Not to eat damn kabobs.” Thus, it was decided. We didn’t go.
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