As you may have noticed, my family doesn’t always have the most normal conversations. So that goes without saying that Gigi’s house on Christmas might be crazier. 11 of us crammed into her 2 bedroom condo after day drinking at the Bears game? She stayed home and pounded Bloody Mary’s until 8pm.
As the night progressed my sister’s “British” accent reared it’s ugly head. It kind of sounds like a poverty stricten, piss drunk Londoner’s just had too many popsicles and their tongue has gone numb. Since filters don’t apply, out came “twatwaffle” which was then repeated by my mother on multiple occasions and somehow evolved into her yelling out “What’s a queef? What! Is! A! Queef?!?” Hopefully there is some inheritence to pay for my nieces and nephews therapy. Merry Christmas Eve! #dadwouldbeproud (or rolling in his grave)
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