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Winnie the Pooh and Christmastide Too	By : gingerharp Category: +S through Z > Winnie the Pooh Views: 6111 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoon(s) that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“Hey Pooh Bear Dude! Wake up, rise and shine!” Retired NFL running back Barry Sanders burst into Pooh’s bedroom. It was a quarter after two, on a sparkling early December Thursday. Barry threw open the shutters and hoisted up the blinds. A flood of sunlight that had been dancing over the glistening, white, blanket of snow, streamed in.
“Oh bother,” Pooh muttered. He rolled onto his stomach and shoved his head deep under the pillow. “I have no need to get up right now. Leave me alone.”
“Well it would be nice if you ever did find a job, so you had a reason to get up besides stuffing your face,” Barry snorted. “But today you have a special visitor. He’s waiting in the parlor. Make haste! Brush your hair. Give yourself a quick sponge bath. It’s an important guest and he mustn’t be kept waiting.”
This all was not registering with Pooh. Pooh had friends stop by Mr. Sanders’s town home all the time wanting to play a delightful game of Pooh Sticks or get burgers at Ruby Tuesday, but Barry let none of them wait in the parlor. The parlor was reserved for Barry’s business guests, ex football stars, and the plethora of gorgeous ladies Barry often invited over.
“A guest for me? In the parlor?” Pooh yawned as he stuffed his paw deep into his boxer shorts to adjust his morning wood. Barry had begun to pull out a clean, red, shirt for Pooh to wear.
“Yes, yes,” he said hurriedly. “Tis a very important guest. Now get your fat calorie laden ass out of bed! I wouldn’t be surprised if Bill Parcells himself turned up at the door next.”
“Who that?” Pooh asked as he rolled onto his back.
“Just get a move on!” Barry crowed and swatted Pooh with a pillow.
In as much haste as an overweight bear of minute brain can manage, Pooh rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He was outrageously hung over. Pooh wasn’t one to go drinking much. For someone like Tigger, a hangover wasn’t a hangover, it was just morning. But for Pooh, a hangover was an immense tragedy that killed a day, and left him puking until all he had left to puke was a bubbly, acidic, bile- mucus, and a splitting headache. He heaved into the toilet. Pooh hadn’t meant to get trashed last night, Piglet was obsessed with the TV show Lost. Every Wednesday night she would have her closest friends over to watch the show and enjoy good drink, merriment, and canapés. Last night was no exception except for Tigger bringing over the ingredients to make honey cake shots. Pooh isn’t one to resist honey anyway, so when he saw Tigger bring an array of shot glasses all looking like jewels, it was hard to say no. The shot was also fun to drink as well. It was a great ordeal. Tigger took lemons and doused them in sugar, Pooh was to suck the sugar off the lemon and then drink a wonderful concoction of butterscotch schnapps. Bailey’s Irish cream, nutmeg, and Godiva white chocolate liquor. It tasted just like a warm, freshly baked, honey cake, and Pooh had enjoyed the concoction immensely. Now he was paying the price. He gazed with glassy eyes at the bloodshot bear that stared back at him in the mirror. Today of all days he had to have an important visitor! But who could it be?
Pooh slowly made his way to the parlor. He was taken aback by what he saw.
“Jiminy!” He exclaimed. There standing in the parlor were three men. One had a long page-boy haircut, with a light blue beret perched upon his head. He wore pristine white tights. He was holding a rolled official looking document in one hand, and the glass of spiced cranberry sherry that Barry had served in the other. The other two men adorned fine white powdered wigs with all kinds of curls. Their tights were just as pristine and their waistcoats had fine golden buttons and fine braided trim. One held a machine gun, the other, a trumpet. He trumpeted a fanfare as Pooh stepped into the room.
“Greetings from William Clay Ford,” the man with the pageboy hair announced. “President of Ford Motor Company, owner of the Detroit Lions, and Detroit’s favorite philanthropist. Am I currently addressing Winfred Pooh the III?”
“That’s me,” Pooh replied. On top of the commode there sat a crystal jar filled with cashews. Pooh helped himself to a hearty handful, hoping it would settle his nerves.
“This is for you. It is from Mr. William Clay Ford himself.” The man handed Pooh the document. All three gentlemen bowed to Pooh whose mouth was filled with cashews. Pooh wasn’t sure what to do, so he raised his paw as if to give a blessing like in church. The trumpeter played another fanfare, and then the men trooped out to the ornate carriage that was drawn with a team of six snow white horses. Pooh watched from the window as the carriage pulled away.
“So what did they want?” Barry asked. “What did William Clay Ford’s counsel want?”
“They gave me this,” Pooh replied. “Can you fry me up some hash browns?” Pooh gave the document to Barry. He was more concerned with his upset tummy.
The document was on pristine lily white paper with gold edges, and tied with a deep Hawaiian blue silken ribbon. Barry removed the ribbon and began to read it.
“Oh Pooh,” he breathed. “This is so very exciting! Listen here.”
William Clay Ford and his family request the presence of Winfred Pooh III at a grand ball to be thrown at the Ford Mansion December 23 at 9 o’clock in the Taurus Ballroom. R.S.V.P. black tie required.
Pooh had no time to react for another knock came from the door.
“I wonder if it’s the president of the United States,” Barry chuckled as he went to answer it. But it was Piglet, dressed in a pale pink down parka, trimmed with white mink fur, furry white boots, and a white mink headband. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold air outside. She was clutching an invitation just like Pooh’s.
“I see you already got yours,” she cried. “I knew you’d be getting one this year. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Bother,” Pooh muttered as he sunk down onto the settee. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. What is a silly old ball anyway?”
Piglet’s jaw dropped to the floor.
“Pooh, a ball is a grand event. This one is at the Ford Mansion. You are invited inside as a guest!”
“William Clay Ford throws a grand Christmas ball for Detroit’s most influential every year at his mansion,” Barry explained. “Myself and Piglet are invited every year.”
“They hire a real orchestra to play waltzes by Strauss,” Piglet went on. “Everyone ballroom dances. Men wear fine tuxedos, while the ladies come dressed in the most lavish, fanciful, gowns that money can buy, all made from fine silks and taffetas.”
“Well if we have to dance,” said Pooh. “Will they at least feed us?”
“Mercy yes!” Barry exclaimed. “The food taste and presentation is a show itself. More food than they have on a cruise ship!”
Pooh had gone on a cruise once with Barry and had enjoyed it more than anything he had ever encountered in the world, even more than going to T.G.I. Fridays. Pooh had gained seventeen pounds on the six-day cruise, but they were happy pounds. From that time on, Pooh said that heaven was one giant cruise ship.
“They have tables and tables of all kinds of different entrees,” said Piglet. “They also have a huge oyster and cheese bar with cheeses from France, Rome, and Switzerland. The sweets tables go on and on for miles and look like something from The Nutcracker. Last year they even had a chocolate fountain with all kinds of fruit and cakes to dip in it.”
“Whoa,” Pooh sighed. “I guess it would be worth going.”
“Of course it would be you idiot,” Barry snapped. “Tis a pride and honor to be invited to this ball. William Clay and I are on better terms then we were when I first breached my contract and left the Detroit Lions. He is letting me invite a friend, so I chose you. He also said you could invite a friend as well. I told him to invite Eeyore, since Piglet, Rabbit, and Owl all get invitations anyway, Christopher-Robin is too young, and Tigger is a menace to society that doesn’t belong in the VFW hall let alone the Ford Mansion. I’m sure you and Eeyore will enjoy the ball, but you must act like gentlemen. I suggest getting some dance lessons, and working with an etiquette coach.”
“Oh bother,” Pooh spat. “What’s an etiquette coach?”
“An etiquette coach will show you how to walk, talk, and eat properly with grace,” Piglet answered. Pooh began to laugh.
“I already know how to eat. Come let’s make up a batch of blackberry pancakes, and honey cinnamon russets!”
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Winnie the Pooh and Christmastide Too