As most folks do, my late father used to tell me bedtime stories. They were commonly dreadful. Prince Gingersnap and the Three Rubber Bands was always his favorite. It wasn’t mine. There were tactical problems: boring, weird and no conclusion. It did put me to sleep, but I was always looking forward to a story having a proper conclusion. That’s when he told me the story which he titled, “Formula 409 and the Bi*ch Who Stole Christmas”.
It was a story about a wife who wished to poison her husband on Christmas Eve. This had me intrigued, and little did I know at the time, it was a prophetic story about my own life. Here is the bedtime story.
Me: Tell me a different bedtime story!
Dad: Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches were sacred in this family. If they took the time to grow a tomato, and then proceed to use those tomatoes on white bread, the tomatoes should not be honored as jesters, but Kings. (At a young age, my father taught me of the importance of a good BLT, especially a ripe tomato.)
Dad: Well, one Christmas Evening, the husband took the time to provide a wonderful dinner of bacon lettuce and tomato sandwiches for he and his wife.
Me: Sounds great!
Dad: Not so fast. His wife tried to poison him.
Me: With what?
Dad: Formula 409. She sprayed it on his bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich.
Me: So far, this is a terrible story. Why would she do that?
Dad: She had a bit of an evil streak in her. He deserved some of it, but he didn’t deserved to be poisoned.
Me: So far, unlike the bible, this is the worst story ever told.
Dad: No, it gets better.
Me: You mean worse.
Dad: No, they got a divorce.
Me: That’s the ending?!! I will never get married, nor will I eat another bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich for fear of getting poisoned. Thanks a lot.
Dad: Wait a minute. It has a happy ending.
Me: You’re full of it, Dad.
Dad: He remarried.
Me: Why? So, he could get poisoned again and suffer an additional divorce? I am going to have nightmares tonight. I may as well become a rabbi. (Since we were Catholic, I thought I could give him a taste of his own nightmare.)
Dad: Benjamin, there is a happy ending.
Me: Do tell. I think you are messing with me again.
Dad: He married the BLT Fairy.
Me: I’ve never heard of the BLT Fairy.
Dad: With his new wife, she promised to never poison his BLT’s. Additionally, she promised to block out, much like rebounding in basketball, anyone who could poison him … or ruin a precious tomato. She gave him the safe gift of protection for Christmas. It’s fun not to get poisoned…especially on Christmas. Good night, my son.
Me: Now I want to eat BLT’s and get married. Thanks, Dad.
Dad: You’re welcome. Now get the hell out of here so I can go to sleep. God Bless.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a very interesting night!