No room at the estate

The marvelous Browns—the parents, their four children and their spouses—are hosting what promises to be a magical black-tie holiday dinner affair at Wildwood (their home) this Friday. (This is in Nashville. Two of the daughters live in SF and like me will be home for Christmas.)

Sadly, my brother Mac and his wife Emily will not be attending as Emily is due in just a couple of weeks. Being mere days away from giving birth, being that distored and trying to get around in a wheelchair, in an antebellum (i.e. not terribly accessible) house, and trying to stuff yourself into a ballgown... well, you can see why they are politely declining the invitation.

Well, Mac being Mac (or just being a Hardcastle), "politely," may not be the best adverb to describe his regret.

I received an e-mail from Mac this morning saying, "This is the regret that I'm putting in the Brown's mailbox tomorrow. So sad that we'll miss it."

To the tune of Jingle Bells starting with the “Dashing through the snow” part

We will miss the fun
At the Wildwood chic par-tay
But Emily’s got a bun
She’ll deliver any day

We’d accept the invite
but she’d deliver at your table
you’d lose your appetite
but, hey, it beats a stable

0hhhhh,
Jingle Bells,
Emily swells
With our unborn son
Christmas time with the Browns, what could be more fun!

Jingle Bells,
Betty tells
Yarns, fact and fable
Your party is a regular Algonquin round table!

Jingle Bells
Emily swells
Missing your par-tay
If she did pop
I’d get the mop and we’d be on our way!

Everybody now, slowly with a lot of gusto, not to mention Jack Daniel’s:

And we’d be on our waaaaay!