Aston here. I got your Christmas ornament in the mail today and, of course, I love it. You both have exceptional taste which is apparent from the killer gifts you always send and the fact that when I visited you recently Grandpa got down on all fours and crawled around the living room floor with me and declared that I have the most remarkable strength and mindblowing judo kick and gorgeous blue eyes and most endearing little laugh and also I'M PERFECT. So clearly, he is a man of discernment. Anyway, this is why I'm writing. That particular quality, that keen sense of style and good judgement that you both share has perhaps... how shall I suggest this... skipped a certain generation.
So... you see... the thing is, Grandma and Grandpa, Dad wants to do a big holiday get together this year and frankly? I don't think I can talk him out of it. Twenty four seven, nonstop, it's all Santa this and Santa that and on and on and on about Rudolph and eggnog and stockings and cookies and carols and presents and Griswalding the house. GRISWALDING THE HOUSE. What in the EARMUFFS is he talking about???
To be honest, Grandma, I'm worried about them both. Yesterday, Daddy hired someone to hang these lights all over our house, these hundreds of millions of thousands of lights, and he booked the guy for three EARMUFFING months from now. Three months out? What the EARMUFFING EARMUFFS. Three months is, like, eons from now, almost the same amount of time I've been on this earth. And then I overheard Mommy tell Auntie Allison that she thinks he might set the entire neighborhood on fire with these light thingies and that she's pretty sure there will be matching Christmas sweaters involved. SWEATERS??? I don't even wear pants on a VOLUNTARY basis, I sure as EARMUFFS am not hiding this impeccable beach bod with something called a sweater.
Anyway, my point is that I'm really relying on you both to get me through the holidays. I can't hold down the cuhrazy around here alone, and I'm counting on you to shake some sense into these two. I'm not going to go into all of the details right now, but let's just say that Mom is talking hair products and felt antlers and putting them on. my. head. Antlers, people. NEED I SAY MORE ABOUT THE CRAY CRAY I'M DEALING WITH? (Also, she can be arrested for that, yes? Grandpa? Look into it.)
Bottom line: HELP ME.
Also, thanks again for the ornament.
p.s. If, by chance, this whole Christmas thing involves breastmilk or lady babies then take back everything I wrote. Count me in.