My girlfriend says that her best Christmas gift ever was the one I left out in the rain this season.

It's a holiday tradition for Sue and I take my two kids (custody shared with an evil ex-wife) to be with the rest of the "Brownfield" family on Christmas Eve. Not a big thrill for us adults, but all the nieces and nephews enjoy the chance to run around and scream at maximum intensity. On the up side, it was always an all-day extravaganza of rich snacks, wine, booze and plenty of coffee. By evening I was one bloated buffet buzzard!

Finally the time came to pack up the presents and pile the children into the van. As the story goes, it was a dark and stormy night... rainy, foggy, cold. After returning them to the frigid clutches of their mother, I planned to improve our overall fun level by taking Sue out for a few more drinks and maybe some pinball.

We were halfway across town when I was unexpectedly struck by a dart of internal lightning. A violent attack of churning cramps made me gasp and sit bolt upright behind the steering wheel. My insides had suddenly become a psychotic blender turned to "puree." What the hell?!?

Then, as quickly as they had come, the painful sensations were gone. Whew! Note to self: go straight to the restroom when we get to the tavern.

We pulled into the long, dark, U-shaped driveway at my once-in-law's house. As children ran ahead to their front door, I was staggered by a sudden pressure spike at my back door. Surprise attack! I was only seconds away from a very personal "Poo-earl Harbor".

Walking slowly and very stiff-legged, I waved goodbye, praying silently for my ass cheeks to stay together just a bit longer. But there was no avoiding my fetid future, and the first wave erupted as I rounded the back of the van. Kicking off my shoes, I pulled down my slacks and dropped my briefs in what seemed slow-motion. Then, leaning back against the cold, wet vehicle, I relaxed my beleaguered bowels and let the load drop. Sweet relief!

Wiping off with my now expendable underwear, I gingerly pulled my pants back on (uuughh!) and stepped beyond the zone of destruction. I located some plastic grocery bags, stuffed my dirty drawers into one and laid another on the seat. Sue gave me a look both quizzical and horrified -- no time to talk now though, must exit Stage Left ASAP.

And it was none too soon because my ex-wife was just pulling in. A few moments sooner and she would have received a head-on view of a very unusual full moon -- not to mention quite a case at any custody hearing.

Embarrassing as the situation was, Sue and I laughed about it the entire way home. Merry Christmas, dear ex-wife. Enjoy cleaning that mess on a frozen Christmas morning.

-- L. Ron Brownfield