The least sappy holiday story tradition in the history of time


December 31, 2014 by rebelwithalabelmaker

When a recent family member was visiting, they were all “the blog seems to have steered a bit away from funny and a bit towards meaningful” and then they frowned. Well, this is the fix for that.  You’re welcome, Internet.


From a recent Facebook post:

Well, this Christmas will definitely go down in history as “remember that year Liz had laryngitis and couldn’t talk?”

Here is how the dinner conversation went:

(Awkward silence)
(Awkward silence)
David [the adult son–I have two, but one of them doesn’t like having his conversations transcribed on the internet all the time, so this is the one you hear about]: This is really good prime rib.
Gary: Thanks. It’s from Bulk Cheese. [that is the name of the butcher. Don’t ask me to explain].
(Awkward silence)
David: It feels like somebody died in here.
Me: [Gesticulating wildly, attempting to make entire sentences out of my newly invented form of sign language].
David: Liz. It’s okay when there are pauses in a conversation.
(Awkward silence)
David: Liz, do you not know that this is what conversations are like most of the time for normal people?

I have learned to whistle to communicate. I have one whistle for yes, and one for no, and one for “come over here I need something”. Gary ignores them all equally. I make up whistles that I feel should be inherently understandable when paired with my gestures, to express my more complex points. Gary ignores those, too. And Bri [David’s wife] gets downright prickly… I was just telling her that her holiday dress was lovely, and I was all excited because there actually IS a whistle for that.

And then David gave the speech about social appropriateness that he gives every year although he usually waits until after I tell the dildo story. (It wasn’t my dildo. And it is a GREAT story. And, I have to say, it is an entirely different story when it falls on Gary to tell it. Because, you know, somebody has to, or it wouldn’t be Christmas. His version is WAY more creepy and awkward than mine.)

David: Maybe we need to get Liz a whiteboard or a keyboard or something.

Eric [I think it was Eric]: Don’t worry. She has Facebook. She will say all of the things there.


David (commenting, on Facebook):  There’s nothing awkward about the silences.  That’s my point.

Mike (brother-in-law, who was not there): I don’t know, David, a woman gesticulating wildly while trying to whistle a story about someone else’s dildo (engage imagination here) sounds pretty awkward no matter the volume.


And now, by popular request of the Internet, (okay, nobody asked, but I get a lot of votes in the determination of “popular request”) the Dildo Story.  I am quoting two versions, here… one as told to Mike (the one from Meadville), because that’s from a time when I was telling it and I tell it best…  transitioning partway through into Gary telling it because he added a twist ending this year:

Me:  So, my sister and I were at the sex store, and we rounded the corner and there was this giant dildo on the wall.

Mike:  Uh, are you sure you want to tell this story when David is here?

Me:  He’s an adult, and he’s heard it lots of times.

David:  Not all of those times, for the record, occurred when I was an adult.

Me:  Whatever.  You don’t think this story is inappropriate.  You told it to all your friends.

Mike:  You told your friends a story that began with “My Mom and my Aunt were shopping at the sex store?”

David:  Yeah, they gave me the same look you’re giving me now.  You just have to power through that part, because it’s worth it.

Mike:  But weren’t you all “Why were you—“

David:  NO.  SHUT UP.  Asking questions is not powering through.  Do not ask questions, or she will just answer them.

Mike [turning to me]:  Were you mad when he told that story to his friends?

Me:  Hell yeah.  Because when I went to tell it to them, they were all “We’ve heard the giant dildo story already, Mrs. James”.  And then I didn’t get to tell it!

David:  See, what I remember is that you went ahead and told it anyways.

Me:  Because it is best when I tell it.  Everyone agrees on that.  So, we were at the sex store, and we rounded the corner, and there was this giant dildo on the wall.  It was huge.  It was, like… THIS LONG.  [you have to imagine me making a hand gesture here.  One that is REALLY BIG and that increases by an inch and a half each year].  Now, I don’t want to be all sex shamey and judge-ey, because I’m usually a pretty open minded person.

Mike [looking over at David uncomfortably]:  I do get that sense.

David:  Power through.  It’s worth it.

Me:  But even I was kind of “Ahh!!!  AH AH AH!  AHAHAH!!!” [You have to jump up here, and wave your arms for effect.  Well, not you.  Me.  Because I am telling the story.  You will jump up and yell “AHH!” at the end.]

Me:  So I said to my sister “I don’t understand the physics!  I just don’t get it!  I mean, your cervix is this far in, so how does this even work?” and the sex store lady said very sweetly  “Well dear, they aren’t usually used for vaginas.”.  And I said “AHHHH!!! Ah ah ah!”.  Not to be sex shame-ey or anything, but I really don’t get the physics of that either.

Mike:  Well—


David:  Huh.  I did not know you were familiar with that phrase.

Me:  So, I came straight home, and I was all “Gary, can you—“ and he got all awkward and unhappy looking.  But then I realized we were having a miscommunication, and I rephrased the question as “is it physically possible for a person who is not you, just in theory, to’” [Gary, we assume, is able to answer all medical questions due to being a surgeon, which is relevant at this point and will become a great deal more relevant shortly].  And Gary was all “yup, that’s a thing people do”.  And I was all “Holy cramoley.  Can you believe that the store even stocks something like that?  They will never sell it.”.  And then, there was this long, quiet pause, and Gary said “Purple, right?  Yeah, they’ve sold at least one.”

[Pause for effect]

Mike:  Where. Did. It. Get. Removed. From.

Gary:  Well, this one couple decided to tie a string to it, and stick it down one person’s throat—but when you get a dildo all the way down your throat, you can’t pull it back up because the opening closes in your esophagus.


Gary (thoughtfully):  We pride ourselves in Canada on teaching safe sex in schools, but there’s a lot of information that could be added, really.

(Gary tends to be very matter-of-fact about non-mainstream stuff like this, because he comes into contact with people not infrequently through work, and has a very realistic sense of “Inh.  People do stuff.  They’re lovely people.  All of sex is kind of weird, if you think about it at all carefully”).

Now, that was the version was from a couple of years ago.  This time, I couldn’t be the one telling the story, because of my laryngitis, so Gary had to mostly tell it, which was okay, except for that there were a lot more pauses for people to get words in edgewise, which resulted in this tidbit:

Auntie Jaime:  What I always wonder is, how did the person breathe?

Gary:  Around it.

Auntie Jaime:  Well, no, because it would be so big, it would block your airway.

Gary:  Nope, you can just breathe around it.

Auntie Jaime:  There is no way.

Gary:  Trust me.  I do it all the time.

[The. Awkwardest. Holiday. Pause. In. The. History. Of. Time.]

Me [in my head, due to the laryngitis]:  Huh.  I know I am absentminded, but I really feel I would remember something like that.

Gary:  At WORK! For gastroscopy! We put a tube down their throat!

David:  Huh.  This story is WAY better when Dad tells it.

Gary:  When you put it on the blog, you have to specify that I meant AT WORK.

2 thoughts on “The least sappy holiday story tradition in the history of time

  1. Rob Van Wyck says:

    This was priceless. No risk of being too meaningful here. Thanks for the laughs. And hope your voice heals up soon. Whistles only cut it by half. Happy New Year

  2. nebulaflash says:

    Well I’m glad that was explained. Now I won’t panic if I have to have a gastroscopic examination.

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