SANTA BABY

Well, once again, 'tis the season for me to wrestle with the bipolar roller coaster that is my Christmas thrill ride of holiday mental states.  I both love and loathe this season for many reasons.  It is the epitome of all that is right and wrong in our culture.  No need for me to illuminate this thought much.  You get it, I'm sure.  It's everywhere -- the commercial excess, the mean-spirited greed, the peace of a full moon-lit night and the open-hearted generosity we remember to act upon.

And unbidden memories often come a-calling that are not in keeping with the season at all.

Today as I was sipping my Starbucks Decaf Peppermint Mocha, inching my way in heavy traffic down a city thoroughfare through a commercial strip that runs north and south in my city, I noticed on my right an establishment called Lover's Package.  There was a mannequin in the window dressed in red, in a rather more skimpy Santa suit than you see at the Mall.  Oh, and the mannequin was a shapely woman.  Barbie figure shapely.  Her "suit" was of fur and lace, set off by patent leather knee high boots.  Very Christmasy.

I was suddenly boosted from my grumpy holiday gloom and let out a LOL chuckle.  (ChOL?)  I recalled the one time I actually went inside that store many years ago.  Hub and I had been at a fundraiser at a social service agency nearby.  Maybe we had a couple of little glasses of wine.  Or three.  On a lark, we said, "Hey! Let's go in there!  Could be fun!"  So we did, rather sheepishly.

We are not prudes, but it is still a bit unsettling to wander among the DVD shelves displaying titles like, 'You've Got Male", "On Golden Blonde", "Good Will Humping"…. not to mention the many and varied tools and toys of the trade so brazenly displayed.  One tries not to make eye contact with other customers.  One hesitates to ask the clerk for assistance or recommendations of any kind.  One refrains from standing too close to the window facing the street and wishes their car was parked in a less conspicuous location.  One just wants to get the hell out after only a relatively short time.

One does NOT want to look up from studiously purusing the Pocket Rocket options to see one's elementary school-aged son's male PE teacher walking through the door.  Especially when one is the PTA President that year.

It would be a very discerning observer to be able to determine which face turned the most crimson as eyes met between PTA Mom and Mr. P.E., or to determine which did the most stammering, stalling, and making of excuses for being there.  PTA Mom finally just busted out the truth -- "I'm maybe a little tipsy and just thought this would be a lark; didn't expect to see anyone I knew."  Mr. P.E. claimed to be searching for a Stag Party gift and they didn't have what he wanted, so, "I'm leaving now."   PTA Mom challenged that lame excuse with a huge guffaw and wondered aloud…"What is that you could possibly want that they do not have in here???"  Then we both laughed and swore each other to secrecy.

On Monday morning,  when Mr. P.E. and PTA Mom met in the school hallway, there was a cordial nod.  Maybe there was even a slight smirk, but nothing was ever said of it again.   Ever.

And that is my happy Christmas tale for today.  I'm going to put Eartha Kitt's slightly racy rendition of Santa Baby on the stereo, and find solace that the Spirit works in mysterious ways to lift one from the doldrums.

At least, that's the view from here….©