It was about four sizes too big and made of that extremely heavy yarn that would certainly secure my demise had I fallen through the ice while skating at the nearest lake, weighing me down to the bottom of the murky water, never to be seen again. A vast array of multi-colored gift boxes stuck out from the tapestry along the bodice, front and back; not an open space neglected. Then, there were the snowmen...
Ah, such joyous holiday traditions - the notorious snowmen! For years they have made children laugh as they attempt to roll the three most perfectly shaped balls of snow, proudly teetering one atop the other to create the ideal snowman. And then there are the collectibles. Mothers and daughters, sisters and aunts, grandmas and great grandmas have collected these jolly figurines for decades, placing them atop the entertainment unit and along the window sill for all to enjoy. Happy, smiling symbols of winter and the holidays therein the season. But alas, some individuals take joy in persecuting our traditional snowmen in the vilest of ways.
Example #1 and the most popular - the Christmas sweater. It should be a crime to subject such otherwise jolly examples of the season to a lifetime of redicule and mockery, sewn into the stitches of a gaudy red and green Christmas sweater. How heartless can some people be?
Then, there are the sewn-in tiny gift boxes... All I can say is, "Why?"
Why there are blue and red and gold and green tiny wrapped boxes sewn into this sweater, I do not understand. And why are they actual boxes? Did the manufacturer create this holiday marvel with a joke and chuckle in mind? Or did he/she seriously contemplate the catastrophes associated with placing little gift boxes into the stitching of the bodice of the sweater?
To spare the feelings of my 87 year old Great Aunt Gretel, I pulled the sweater over my head and stood before the room of red-faced Irish family members who were quickly turning purple in the effort to also spare Great Aunt Gretel from the boisterous rumbles of their pending laughter. As a thousand camera lights flashed to capture this incredibly precious event, I adjusted the seams and displayed a little twirl in spite of myself, and was rewarded with the dentured-smile of my elderly good-natured aunt. But as I attempted the delicacy of a ballerina's twirl, one of the 3-D gift boxes caught the garland wrap on the tree, and all too quickly the Victorian Christmas tree my mother had so elegantly decorated began to teeter. I'll leave the conclusion to your imagination.
Alright, I got a bit off track....
Among the hustle and bustle of my fellow insane shoppers and exchangers, and my snowman sweater in its bag in the passenger seat alongside me, I drove the slushy and wet roads through Manchester, New Hampshire and toward Walmart. Only four times did my car slide and almost slam into the car ahead of me, but I considered myself lucky since the tires on my 1992 Pontiac Grand Am are just about as bald as a baby's bottom and about as smooth as well. It was a dangerous and treacherous journey from one end of Manchester to the other. I battled strong gusts of chilly wind, mystically hidden sheets of black ice, violent commuters with quickly drawn middle fingers, and the occasional driver suffering from road rage. But I trudged fearlessly onward, finally reaching my destination.
After scaling the parking lot about 72 times, I finally found a suitable parking space at the farthest corner of the lot. It was about three miles from the actual entrance of the store, but I didn't mind. Christmas dinner and the mouthful of pine needles I had consumed when the Christmas tree attacked me earlier in the evening were still quite heavy in my stomach - I knew the treacherous hike through the snow, slush and black ice do me well.
Properly prepared with hiking boots and a heavy winter jacket, I tightly gripped the plastic bag containing Great Aunt Gretel's thoughtful but hideous sweater, and began the three mile hike through the parking lot. The wind was whipping about my hair, creating knots that would undoubtedly take hours to untangle even with the strongest of conditioners. And still I pressed on, determined to exchange that sweater for something more.... me.
