Hello from all of
us!

Dear Everyone, First of all, please forgive me for not getting this Christmas letter to you sooner. Ever since Harold and I were named parents of the year by the Rising Swamp chapter of PFLAG, I don't know where the time goes, what with our organizational commitments, the kids, the grandkids, their pets, and our outpatient procedures. Most of January was spent trying to figure out the new Medicare, but you don't want to hear about that. On to the good stuff--where to start?

Alvin has moved back into his old room, the one with all the pastel Miami Vice posters, only now he's sharing it with his partner, Jesus (the j is silent). The thong boutique they were managing on South Beach had a very bad season, plus all their customers had moved up to Fort Lauderdale (where the boys are--remember that movie?), and they couldn't afford to relocate. So they're here, and we have a garage full of thongs. Write with your sizes! They also brought the shi-poo, the morkie, and a cat from Abyssinia that looks as thin as those children on the late-night TV commercials, but maybe that's just how they grow things over there.

They divide their time between us and Muffin, who is of course still with her partner, Carla, and their children, Mei Lai and Song My. Carla has finally bonded with the little one. She takes her out on her Harley, and you can hear that precious doll screaming with delight from blocks away. Speaking of dolls, Mei Lai had a fund-raising lemonade stand on our lawn for the hospital in New Orleans that cares for dolls injured in Katrina. I never could get Muffin interested in dolls, so this is a new experience for me!

Now that Alvin and Jesus are with us, we have been given the responsibility of hosting the weekly Desperate Housewives viewing party, so I'm back to making pot brownies, just like the old days before we had kids. Harold and I enjoy them more than ever. It turns out one of those Desperate Housewives is a transgender person and they've made a documentary about her. Him. Her. Never mind. We all went and it was very good, but the grandkids were a bit puzzled, so we explained it. Not for nothing are we PFLAG parents of the year!

Speaking of which, it looks like we may finally have a gay pride parade here in Rising Swamp. It is certainly time. I'm sure you remember last year's letter wherein I described the ugly scene that broke out when some of the local lesbians marched in the Armed Forces Day parade as the Mariska Hargitay Appreciation Society. Enough said.

Muffin, in addition to running the body shop with Carla, has become quite a proficient slash-fiction writer. She has written several new what she calls Harriet Potter stories on her Web site (www.buddingrose.com) and they have attracted attention from all around the world, but fortunately not from that woman who writes Harry Potter or, even better, her lawyers. Muffin says slash fiction is the art form of the new millennium, and I'm just glad she's getting in on the ground floor.

OK, I have to close now. Pat Robertson just came on the TV, and Alvin has trained his dog to pee at the screen. Next year send Handi Wipes for Christmas!

Yours in solidarity, Roz (Remember--we met on the cruise?)