The Seasoning of Christmas

The weather outside is depressing.
I’m still running my air conditioning!
Mother Nature this ain’t no joke
Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

It doesn’t show signs of stopping.
Here I am Black Friday shopping.
Why’s this check-out line moving so slow?
Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

Huh? Whaddaya think? 
You didn’t know I’m a whiz at lyrics. Yes, the talent is amazing.

I shouldn’t complain—not that that’s ever stopped me before. Actually, it’s been very nice recently. Temperatures in the 50s during the day. Clear blue skies. Enough of a wind to blow your skirt up over your head if you don’t hang onto it. This wonderful weather almost never happens in the Houston area. It’s t-shirts and shorts until January when it gets a little chilly and rains all the time. Sloppy. Depressing. Ho, ho, ho. Bah Humbug.

Unfortunately my dear friend, Ann, is having that problem right now in Asheville, North Carolina. She told me it’s been rainy, rainy, rainy for days on end. Gray skies. It’s enough to make genuine faux (that’s French for pretend) Christmas trees molt their plastic needles. So she asked me to send her some sunshine if we had any. What’s a true friend to do? I squeezed my eyes closed, pressed my fingers against my temples, scrunched my face up, grunted real hard. I have no idea if this is how it works. It can’t be that difficult. They do it on TV all the time—and everything on TV is real, right? I told her it might take a little while to work since I’ve never transdenmentalnationed anything from one place to another. If it doesn’t work, maybe I will have lost weight with all that face smooshing. My cheeks hurt for two days. That has to count for something. Uh-huh.

All that soggy atmosphere has made it difficult for her to get in the Christmas spirit, she tells me. She has yet to decorate, send out Christmas salutations. Frankly, I was shocked. Really? No tingle of tinsel? No winkle of wights…I mean, lights? No Technicolor deranged snowmen on the front of cards? What is this world coming to?! Then I remembered I haven’t done any of those things either. Oh. Well. Perfectly understandable not to feel like teetering atop a ten foot ladder to string icicle lights across the front of your house. You take your time. No worries.

Being the Christmas season, some of my favorite programs in all the world are on: Muppet Christmas Carol, A Charlie Brown Christmas, It’s A Wonderful Life, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus is Coming To Town, White Christmas, The Year Without a Santa Claus, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, Holiday Inn, Little Drummer Boy, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street, Jack Frost, The Polar Express, The Bishop’s Wife. Makes me tear up out of sheer joy. (Where’s that roll of toilet paper?)

Considering the holiday season is upon us, I decided I should go on a little diet to prepare for the major grazing that always occurs. This is in direct opposition to some of the mottos I have in Life:
Eat right. Exercise daily. Die anyway. I’m not carrying my coffin so I don’t care how much it weighs. They have hydraulic lifts to take care of that. 
D-I-E-T is a 4-letter “D-word”. I’m sure somewhere in the Bible it mentions 4-letter “D-words” are bad. 
The first three letters spell D-I-E. Why would I want to do that to myself? I might not be a spring chicken any longer, but I’m not a petrified fossil, either.
HOWEVER, how else will I be able to fit into the mango, chartreuse, turquoise, and mauve Hawaiian-print muumuu Great Aunt Gladys buys me every year? I don’t want to end up looking like a float in the New Year’s Day Rose Bowl parade. Somebody might want to set me on fire.

I had no idea there are so many food commercials on TV. Every twenty seven point thirty one ninety sixty zero seconds there’s something about food on TV. Burger King has a 2-for1 Whopper deal going on this weekend. There are coupons for free treats like peppermint mocha/hot chocolate at McDonalds. Red and green Hershey’s Kisses ringing like bells. There are ads for restaurants we don’t even have in Texas. They show dogs eating what looks like slices off an olive loaf. Even that looked good. I’m so hungry I caught myself licking the TV screen. 

It’s a conspiracy. A conspiracy, I tell you! By those models who weigh less than the Christmas ham I’ve got stored in my freezer. They’re jealous because some of us are overly luscious. They’re under the misguided assumption you can’t be too thin. Are you kidding me? It’s the other way around, as far as I’m concerned: you can be too thin. Perhaps they’re confused. Malnutrition will do that to you. Scrambles all those brain chemicals. Scrambles…eggs. (STOP it!) I am more than willing to share my drained tuna and salt-free crackers with those poor girls. In Christian love.

Just saw a commercial on TV. It’s for that Dolce & Gabbana perfume, Light Blue. I love that perfume. It’s some yummy smelling stuff. In the commercial this man who’s hot enough to fog up my glasses climbs out of the ocean. There’s a model that’s entirely too skinny for my way of thinking. The sock I’m wearing on my left foot has more material in it than her entire bikini. My only consolation is she’s flatter chested than Cousin Bubba Buford Tyrone. Dadgum if she doesn’t get herself out of the water and half-eat his face off! I was so shocked I dang-near dropped my celery stick. Whoa, Petunia! 

I have a problem with that commercial—besides the fact it’s indecent. I use that perfume all the time. I’m on my second big bottle. I am in no way too skinny for anybody’s way of thinking. I’ve never had a man who looks good enough to stretch out on a pizza pan be all over me like a cheap, wet suit on a wino. That is false advertising. I’m experiencing extreme mental anguish. I might have to eat an entire 1 lb bag of Snickers Fun Size candy bars. I’m gonna sue.

I have to change the subject or I might hyperventilate just thinking of all that chocolate. Opossum update: They’ve come and gone quicker than Kim K.’s and Kris’ marriage. I have two approximately six month old kittens living under there now, Morgan tells me. At Zero Dark Thirty in the morning. Really? Seriously? See how happy I am? See me smiling? Hear my teeth grinding in delight?

Speaking of cats, I had a scare the other morning. Woke up with twenty-plus pounds of Hunter smashed against the left side of my head, ten pounds of Zoe smashed against the right side of my head, fifteen pounds of Kendall pushed up against my chin and twenty-plus pounds of Colby stretched across my thighs. I couldn’t move. For a few seconds I thought something had happened during the night and I was paralyzed. Help! Help! I’m sleeping and I can’t get up! Then I realized I was being used for a mattress. 

“Get off me,” I said in my most authoritative tone. Nothing. “Come on, kids. I can’t breathe.” Of course I could, but they didn’t know that. Or did they? Nothing. I started pushing with my hands, wiggling. Up popped four cat heads. I got hit full force with four pairs of cat eyes. “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice,” I warned sternly. As if I were the one inconveniencing them! Down went four cat heads. I’ve read, “Dogs have owners. Cats have staff.” I’m here to tell you that statement is true. I eventually managed to free myself of feline immobilization. Funny how I felt like hacking up hairballs all day.

Can’t eat this. Can’t eat that. Glycemic indwelling particulars. How many trans fat carbo grams of saturated sodium are in that garbanzo bean in relation to a 1200 calorie/day diet? Sugar. Saccharine. Nutrasweet. Splenda. Stevia. I’m tired of attempting to deform my body into someone else’s idea of what “looks right.” I have it on record I was created by a God Who made me exactly as I am. Psalm 139 says, I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. He formed me in my mother’s womb. He loves me with a love than transcends Atkins Palm Beach Grapefruit Cleansing only-on-Thursday nonsense. Now where are my car keys? I’m gonna enjoy myself a free peppermint mocha while I eat my BOGO Whopper. 

Until next time, may you be filled with God’s tender mercies. 

Jann (Sherry’s sister)