I wish it was Christmas

There's no getting around it it's terrible outside.

Wind, rain, cold and a vicious squirrel that has now attacked a second chair on the Beloved Back Deck leaves me in a foul mood.

Damn squirrel.

Making it worse, Laurel ... Sarah's 10 year old ... has named it "François".

"Oh look," she exclaims as we sit on the Beloved Back Deck in chewed up chairs on Sunday afternoon when the weather was perfect ... well for winter ... "it's Francois?"
"Who the Hell is Francois?" I ask working on my tan wearing nothing but black running shorts ... sometimes the girls really interrupt my tanning and I have to wear something.

"Him," she points at the wire hanging in the back year with the squirrel on it.

"Little Bastard," I mutter.

"MICHEAL," Maddie, the 13 year old
 clueless child who knows everything chides.

At that moment several dozen cats start howling from next door.

The Cat Lady's not home so Laurel sweetly coos, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!"

"What in the Hell are you doing?" I demand sitting up in my chair and taking my bare feet off the table.

"Oh they need some love Mike," she explains.

"NO THEY DO NOT," I explain. "I NEED A B B GUN!"

Maddie starts laughing and quotes something I always say when they want something ... "Well Christmas shopping just got a little easier."

"Why do you want a B B Gun," Laurel asks.

"Are you kidding me?" I ask sticking my bare feet back on the table with their bare feet.

"No ... why do you want a B B Gun?"

I have serious doubts about American Public Education.

LAUREL," Maddie yells ... because she knows everything without understanding anything ... "MIKE WANTS TO SHOOT THEM!"

A lover of animals Laurel is horrified.

"Don't you want another stuffed one," I ask?

"YOU WOULD NOT," Laurel says with ice.

"Sure I would," I reply, "where do you think stuffed animals come from anyway?"

More horrified Laurel rushes downstairs to check on the health of the several thousand stuffed animals she owns.

"A B B Gun huh?" Maddie giggles.

"I think so," I reply moving my bare feet from the table to rail ... staring at François ... pointing a finger at him ... pulling the imaginary trigger ... blowing my fingertip afterwards ... "It's time to thin the herd."

"What's that mean?" Maddie asks.

"Never mind," I say, "just make sure I get a B B Gun for Christmas."

"Okay," she answers ... "What are you getting me?"

"Shut up," I say.

"No you tell me or you're not getting a B B Gun."

G.I.R.L.S.

"What do you want?"

Several hours later we leave the Beloved Back with a long list ... a faint memory of what I want ... as that little Bastard Francois plans his next attack.