Time for a repeat of my Christmas Story....

I have posted this story before, I think, a couple times now... BUT.. it's Christmas time, it's been a few years since I last posted this so just in case you did not read it before... here's your chance. I think you will find it rather remarkable because should you read it, as hard as it is to believe... this story is true, it actually happened. Not even the names were changed to protect the innocent. This was written for "Facebook".... for local friends... so it will read a little odd here on the Pub. Here's the tale:

At the risk of humiliating myself beyond any hope of redemption in this life time I am going to tell you a tale. A true one.. unfortunately. Perhaps I have told this story before, I can’t remember - but certainly my ‘confession’ here, if you will… will lose me the long strived for portrayal of myself as the distinguished, sophisticated, debonair gentleman you all perceive me to be.

I love other cultures, people. Actually more than ‘love’… I am infatuated with and by them. So in the mid, maybe late, 90’s when my daughter came home and told me a foreign exchange student from Norway was at Tranquillity High School I was instantly fascinated. My daughter became friends with her… which I thought was fantastic. As school began, and progressed, my wife, and daughter’s, kept telling me about this young lady from Norway… but as the weeks went by I never had the chance to actually meet her. I think it was November before I did meet her… and I doubt she, “Vivian”, is aware of this… but it’s time for the truth to be told.

I’m home. I’m alone. My wife and daughter's are at ‘dancing lessons’. I get a call. “Dad, Vivian is going to come home with us and spend the night. We’ll be home in a couple of hours”.
I hung up the phone and did what I normally do - - I took that information, logged it in mind, then promptly forgot about it. So a couple of hours later I’m sitting at home, alone, when the doorbell rings.

Now I have to stop for a moment to set the scene, and make a humiliating confession. When I’m home I’m the King, or at least I think I am. In those days that meant lounging in boxer shorts, (underwear) and a T-Shirt… and right now you think you know where this tale is going… but trust me, you haven’t got a clue. I should also note that I am also not particularly proud… so if you come to my home, after hours, I have no problem welcoming you in while attired in boxer shorts. It’s my castle… not my problem, it’s yours. But also, I am NOT without some degree of decorum…. if the situation calls for it I will put on some pants… and certainly meeting a young lady from Norway for the first time called for pants. Unfortunately, as I have mentioned, I had forgotten she was on the way.

Once again, you have no idea where this is going… believe me.

It’s maybe 10pm, my doorbell rings. I am in boxer shorts. “WHO IN THE HELL is ringing my doorbell at this time of night?”, I wonder. Certainly not my wife, my daughters, they have a key. So I go to the door and open it. Outside my door stands this tall, beautiful, Norwegian blond. For whatever reason the ‘gears’ inside my head do not click, as they would with a normal person. I am quite surprised to find a tall, beautiful, Norwegian blond at my front door at 10pm; surprised to say the least. Flabbergasted is more like it. You see - - tall, beautiful, Norwegian blonds do not, as a rule, knock on my door late at night. Perhaps never.

Ok, so I’m at the door and a bit curious. Outside stands “Vivian”, (remember, I’ve never met her before). I say nothing.. I’m flabbergasted, dumbfounded actually, and I’m struggling to find the right words, or even a coherent thought. Thus - she begins the conversation - “Hi, I’m Vivian and I am going to spend the night with you”.

WELLLL… that just doesn’t happen… not in Tranquillity anyway. I mean, you know, a few ‘dreams’ perhaps… but this isn’t a dream.

A few moments of total confusion, mystification, and we work it out.. Vivian, from Norway, my daughter’s friend, the foreign exchange student. As we all do when ‘suddenly’ aware of what is going on I break down and smile, embarrassingly, and I invite her in. Vivian enters. She sits on the sofa, collapses actually because she’s very tired… and I begin my ‘get acquainted’ speech… gibberish actually - - how happy I am to finally meet her, how she must tell me all about Norway. We speak to each other for a short time, half hour probably, at which time she informs me of how exhausted she is, (my wife and daughter’s have yet to arrive), and asks if I could show her to where she will sleep for the night… which I do. I show her to the guest bedroom, bid her goodnight, and go back to my living room sofa.

About another half hour goes by before my family gets home. They enter. “Did Vivian get here?”, they inquire. “Yes”, I reply.

“Where is she?”, they ask. “In bed”, I answer. It was at that moment that my world came apart. My family asked, “Were you wearing that when she got here?”…. and it was only then that it dawned on me that I was in boxers, had been in boxers when Vivian arrived; thus all during our get acquainted conversation. My family began laughing hysterically. I was embarrassed, as you would expect, but not yet fully aware of the full extent of humiliation in this situation.

If you’re not sitting down at this time do so, trust me, sit down before you finish reading this confession.

I must pause in this telling, once again, to relate another ‘fact’ that you must be made aware of so you can appreciate what I’m about to divulge.

My wife had, has in fact, this annoying tradition of purchasing for me ‘joke’ boxer shorts, especially at Holiday times. Like boxer shorts with hearts on them, or ponies, or little cowboys. I NEVER wear them. But this evening, before Vivian’s arrival, I had gone into my bedroom to put on my normal boxers and discovered I didn’t have a pair of normal boxers available… all in the dirty clothes hamper. I had no recourse. I went to the ‘joke boxer’ drawer and put on a pair of those. And this is key, I did so paying no attention whatsoever to what was on them.

I grabbed up the first pair of ‘joke boxers’ I found and put them on. Little did I know that these boxers were, unbeknownst to me, not merely ‘joke’ underwear, oh no… these were special. They were in a Christmas motif and featured Rudolph.. you know, the red-nosed reindeer.

And it doesn’t end here.

Rudolph, as you all know, had a red nose. Guess where the bright red nose was placed on the boxers?

And it doesn’t end with that either.

This pair of boxers, Rudolph boxers, added some ‘flavor’.. the nose glowed in the dark. My house was dark when Vivian had arrived.
For a half an hour I had sat on the sofa with Vivian, meeting her for the first time in my life, desperate to make a good impression, in boxer shorts with a glowing red nose located.... well, I’m sure you have deduced the ‘where’.

Vivian never said a word about the ‘glow'… and to be honest, I have no idea if she noticed… although how she could have missed it is beyond me. So Vivian was introduced to the “USA” by yours truly… serving as an ambassador for the USA while attired in Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer underwear featuring a glowing red nose strategically placed right over my private parts.

So how to end this? I don’t know. If you read this, Vivian… ummmmmm, I still have those boxers but the nose doesn’t shine as brightly as it once did. And for what it’s worth… I surveyed my memory and I can positively say that you were the first, and only, beautiful Norwegian blond that came to my door late at night announcing that you were spending the night with me. Alas. BUT… that’s still a lot more than any of my friends can ever say. - Jimmy