Come all ye faithful. What required merely a 15-minute drive to accomplish just a few weeks ago has now become the all too familiar (and
frightening) hour-long death defying obstacle course and study in
survival. Once harmless little old Italian women in questionable attire
produce have now become the enemy mustachioed drill sergeants with armed
with a unibrow grocery list and baking agenda. The need to create
and produce impossible amounts of cookies and inedible fruit cake God
knows what else is in direct proportion to the flour and baking powder wars now
going on in aisle seven. (Price check on almond extract, please). All of
this rising blood pressure yeast and anxiety is compounded by a greater
need to get this production done before the holidays arrive, so that
we can feel completely exhausted as close to God
"normal" as possible and be closer to the ones we love as we fall
asleep in a liquor induced coma. Have you kissed your yenta
therapist today? She has been patiently awaiting your visit call.
I'll dial her for you, if you like. Her dreidel is such a
disappointment next to your big Douglas fir. Pine needle envy, indeed.
à ‚¬ËœTis the
season. It seems so surreal to see store shelves filled with cranberries
and something that has to replace pumpkin, when not long ago, we were
voting for hope and change and by virtue of George W, we got it!
People are starting to string lights on their houses and instead of being
barraged by the continuing saga of Tiger Woods' sex life political ads,
we're now being accosted by commercials for toys that will require more
batteries than my best vibrator ten days without electricity. And
it wouldn't be the holidays without the credit card diamond industry
making more promises in a carat than any person with an IQ of more than 12
should believe, but because we are hopeful, naà ¯ve (and sometimes stupid), we
still do. (Looks in David Yurman
catalogue.) (Not really, I prefer Bulgari
or Georg Jensen if truth be told.)
à ‚¬ËœTis the
season. It is a time to reflect, to gather, and let go. Women are
cleaning house to make everyone else feel like they should have stayed
at home. We plan meals, buy and wrap crappy regifted gifts,
cook to exhaustion and enjoy the leftovers in our bathrobes the following
morning when we face the man mess that was made the night before.
When all is said and done, we are exhausted by the whole damn thing our
own ideas of making it perfect for everyone else and we often feel resentful
empty and full at the same time. No one understands this more than
other women. And so we make plans for a three day cruise lunch to
discuss it and are just thankful to sit down on our fat asses and be
served some other garbage by someone else without having to do the
dishes. Make that a double, please.
As you
walk in or out of a store or the ladies room this season, take an extra moment
to hold the door for another woman, whether she is coming or going.
Remember that she too is under the same fairy tale influence deadlines
and stress as you have completely avoided this time. She has
childhood memories and fantasies of what it should be like or how she will make
it different or better, or better yet, perfect for everyone else at
her own expense. Maybe before the world comes to an end of this
year. She is the woman you were many years ago, the one you are becoming
or will some day be. We are mirror
images of each other. Check out that chin hair; it's coming soon
to a mirror near you. Honor yourselves and each other with a smile of
understanding. And even if you're a man, you can sing along with us.
Fo llicle
La La La, La La La La.
