Christmastide part IV
Pooh couldn’t help but worry about what Tigger said. There was no way he could enjoy shopping for suits, listening to waltz music, and going to etiquette class with Tigger’s words burning inside his skull. He decided to confront Barry about it one day while they were baking some Scottish jelly biscuits to send to the Ford family in gratitude for the invitations. Scottish Jelly Biscuits were an old Sanders Christmas cookie recipe that had been passed on for generations. They were crisp, buttery biscuits, so filled with butter they actually oozed butter after you bit into it. They were small sandwich cookies, cut into different shapes, and filled with raspberry jam. Barry had been battling a pretty croupy cough as well.
“Pooh stop eating all that raw cookie dough,” Barry snapped as he rolled out some dough with the rolling pin.
“Why?” Tis rumbly in my tumbly,” Pooh replied. He had dough and flour all over his paws, face, and shirt.
“Because when you ate that whole tube of slice-and- bake cookie dough I came home to you passed out on the floor, clutching your gut, and pissing yourself. Don’t want to clean it up.” Barry replied, he covered his mouth to cough. Pooh took one last bite of the chilled, buttery, dough. It slithered down his steamy esophagus where it was intercepted by the pillowy cushion of lard that lined his belly.
“Barry,” he said. “Is it wrong to go to this Christmas ball?”
“Wrong?” Barry exclaimed. “Mercy no. Tis an honor to be invited and a disrespect not to show up.”
“Tigger says that William Clay Ford has ruined the Detroit Lions by taking fan money and throwing lavish parties, instead of getting better players and coaches. Should I be mad at him?”
Barry stared at Pooh for a long time. Part of him was very surprised that Pooh could talk so intelligently about a social matter, but then again Tigger had told him this. Tigger intelligent? Then again Tigger had a point.
“Tis true,” said Barry. “That is why I left the Lions during my contract. It is one thing to play for a lousy team. Tis another to play for a lousy team that never gets better. It wasn’t the players. Every new season we were all filled with hope for a playoff year at least. But when there is someone over you, making poor decisions for the team, it gets frustrating because there is nothing you can do to control it. A poor coach the players can rebel against, but the owner can do whatever he wants with the team. He can dress us up in pink ballet tutus if he wished. I got sick of Ford’s decisions. Even though we have only won one play off game, and often finished last or next to last in our division, the fans kept filling the seats, merchandise sold. Detroit never had to do any black outs on home games. The team made plenty of money, but the team never got better. Ford was doing something with it. So I got sick of it all and left. Ford still invited me to his parties because I’m a Detroit pillar, and very powerful in this city.”
“Well maybe we shouldn’t go,” Pooh said. “Especially if he isn’t fair.”
“I once contemplated not attending,” Barry admitted. “However, Christmas tide is a time of happiness and hope. Peace on Earth and goodwill towards men. It’s not a time to hold grudges or bad blood. William Clay Ford put aside sour feelings for me to invite me, so I figure that once a year I can set aside any poor feelings I have, and focus on unity and good tidings. Now which cookie cutter do you want to use first?”
Pooh felt immediately better. Barry was right. Christmas was a time for hope and happiness, and good will. Not a time to hold grudges. He could eat his food, and drink his punch, and dance with his women for one night.
“The star,” Pooh replied. “I want to use the Christmas star first.”
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