Being fiscally frugal, or as I like to say . . . CHEAP!, my gorgeous self finally intersected with your tight wallet at an after Christmas sale four years ago. Yeah, we were both ecstatic!
. . . for a minute. The next year you were so proud of me. You couldn't wait to show me off. I was beautiful and you loved me . . . for a minute.
After the holidays, you carefully folded and put me away. In your typically anal fashion, you put me safely away somewhere in the "Christmas (storage) room". Little did I know I had already turned into the ugly stepsister to Bushy Bones with her tippling topper.
So, this year, finally, FINALLY, the tall guy in the house finds me when he comes down for good ole Bushy Bones and her fallen angel. No explanation, no apology, just stuffed in the box with B.B., schlepped upstairs, then a quick shake, and "Would you looky there? Isn't that the prettiest thing you've ever seen under a tree?"
Ok, I made up the last part, but that's how it sounded in my head. I thought to myself, "Is it real? Am I really here? How do I look? Still clean and tastefully colorful, with just the right amount of sparkle?"
Just when I thought my humiliation couldn't get any worse, here they come! All sizes. All shapes. Some must be rabid because there's something white and frothy coming out of them. (I think I saw something similar on the face of one of the neighborhood critters.) It's like a Shriner's Convention under here: crowded, noisy and arbitrary colors.
What exactly was the point anyway? You got me up here, got me all excited about showing off my modestly glam self, and then cover me up. What's that about? I thought you needed me. I thought you loved my beautiful color, and texture, and sparkle, and, and . . .
Breathe, just breathe. My analyst told me I needed to focus more on the positive and not on the negative. He said it would help me to regain and maintain my equilibrium. (What? You never heard of holiday anxiety? Oh, I know what you're thinking. But really, who needs more therapy help than a cover-up?)
Alright, I'll give it a try. I'm glad Bushy Bones can't shed on me, or the cat molest me anymore. I'm thrilled to be away from prying eyes and the putrid pump. But you know what I'm gladdest about?
YOU! I'm super dooper glad you stopped by today. And gladder still for holiday we celebrate in one way or another. So from me to you,
HAVE A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!
(And trust me when I tell you, I'm not just blowing smoke up your skirt.)