Merry Christmas

Christmas Eve was overcast and, when I went downtown 

to take care of last minute errands, the city seemed just as gray. 

Only a few people were around and, without the usual hustle, 

the buildings looked abandoned, which they were. 

The bustle of last minute shopping had taken itself to the outskirts 

of the city, where the traffic stood in line 

at the intersections and people stood in line at the stores.

I made my way through the traffic, avoided most of the congestion

in the stores, and came home to wrap my presents and 

to talk with friends and family before I watched "A Christmas Story"

on TV. As always, I laughed at scenes as though I'd never

seen the movie before, as I'm certain I'll laugh when 

I see the movie next year. The critics didn't like it

when it first came out, but the people have spoken.

It's a classic.

I Wanted to Look Pretty ...

I knew Thursday might be the last day to work on my little assignment, 

so wanted to present a nice appearance for particular people. 

I wore a new pair of trousers I'd just hemmed, made of 

a tiny houndstooth check material. I wore a nice lace top 

that contrasted well with the weave and a black tunic cardigan. 

It looked pretty decent together.

My hair looked sleek and shiny and behaved 

well this morning, too.

It was raining lightly when I left the house, but the temperature was decent.

I caught the bus from home just as the downpour hit. Snug and warm

on the bus, I wasn't too concerned; I had another bus to catch but that hadn't 

presented much of a hassle in the past. Did I tell you it was raining?

I crossed the street to wait for the second bus. Commuters drove past where

I was standing, throwing up five foot walls of rainwater that was

pooled near the curb. Great splotches of water (re)rained upon my

(formerly) shiny head, sprayed like a fusillade of bullets across my raincoat,

and dotted my new trousers with giant wet spots, not once, not twice,

but four times. I was torn between using my umbrella against

the falling rain, or as a shield against the onslaught from the street.

Neither effort was effective. I couldn't get away from it.

The fourth assault by passing cars resulted

in street soil-tainted water being splashed on my chest and

running down between my breasts, into the lacy bra that was

underneath my pretty lace top. The bus turned the corner and stopped 

to pick me up just as I began to cry from frustration.

I had wanted to look pretty.
When I left home I was Angelina Jolie, Helen Mirren, and
Ellen Barkin. By the time I got to work I was just
another sodden, bedraggled, overweight woman who wanted
to earn a few bucks for Christmas money.

Merry Christmas, everybody. Merry Christmas, Joe.