Christmas marginalia

Christmas marginalia

There’s something about the age of nine that made the Minis go sour on Sundays. Perhaps nine is when my Sunday-hate began as well, but I dared not display that to my parents. Last year Minimike reluctantly participated in the Christmas pageant under painfully increasing degrees of bribery and coercion. Minime dutifully, albeit reluctantly, sat through Minimike’s Christmas pageant rehearsals, and to cheer her up, doodled her own interpretation of the Christmas story in the margins of the script. It’s perhaps a little unorthodox, but it sure cheers me up as we approach the one-year anniversary of leaving church. But I can address that depressing topic another time. Whimsy and mirth is the only thing on today’s menu. Enjoy!

Pay up!
Pay up!
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Baby? Gross.
Baby? Gross.
Hey, Baab.
Hey, Baab.
Where's Baab?
Where’s Baab?
Poke the chorus.
Poke the chorus.
Seriously, where's Baab?
Seriously, where’s Baab?
That's for the baby!
That’s for the baby!
Pity the crazy.
Pity the crazy.
Bring back my sheep!
Bring back my sheep!
Yer gotter foller the ster.
Yer gotter foller the ster.
"Find baby king," he says.
“Find baby king,” he says.
This town is cray-cray.
This town is cray-cray.
The End.
I’m not actually doing anything!
I Do Doodle