Happy Holidaze

Karin readjusted the crooked wreath when she returned home because nothing was ever right. She swung the door open and tried tossing the car keys on a hook, but they ended up in the trash. After digging, she washed the coffee ground sootiness from her due-for-manicure hands and dried them on a damp towel. Additional sniffs confirmed it should have been changed a day ago. 

Karin tried not to scream, so she found someone to blame.  

“Well, Nick,” she seethed (even though Nick was still at work), “maybe should have changed it last month, for fuck’s sake.” 

The next natural question was why Nick had yet to notice the musty towel, overflowing trash, crooked wreath, or mail piling up in the box. 

Karin considered why everything fell on her these days. 

Nick. Busy, busy, Nick. Her husband loved work so much that she called him a workaholic. But the man loved Christmas even more. Karin understood that the sales push was cutthroat right now, but Nick spent every second joking about Festivus and naughty and nice lists and corny lines from Elf when he was at home. Just one of many stupid movies he watched during the entire month of December, chugging eggnog and stringing lights and shopping for that “exceptional ugly sweater” that he could wear to the Christmas Eve Party. 

Karin sighed, kicking off her flats. Her very normal sweater was in the dryer downstairs—where it was cold. 

Fucking laundry. 

She genuinely wished she could fast forward to the not-so-distant future when all this stressful nonsense was over. But the unsavory present was not going anywhere: it was Christmas Eve evening, and Karin had a lot to do. The Party was the principal item on the list, and she only had an hour and a half to prepare. 

Karin started by grabbing a new tea towel and taking off her coat. 

“Where do I begin?” she muttered, scanning the neglected kitchen and tower of dirty dishes, one of several to-do’s that would have to wait. A needling chorus of pale seasonal ghostly coworkers high on holiday magic distractedly tormented her mind. “Relax, Karin,” or “count your blessings,” several people suggested after noticing she got so irritated over December 25th. Oh, sure, she thought, relax. Tune out. Meditate. Binge some Santa Smut. Drink an expensive peppermint mocha whipped calorie bomb and marvel why the pants don't fit. Kick back and observe that slow-talking guy from 1940-something wax on about lassoing the moon. Everyone advised her to pretend it was the best time of year, even though the credit card bill surely showed otherwise. 

Ok, Happy People. Maybe next year. 

A fierce melancholy emanated, and Karin glared blankly at the granite countertop. She concluded that her earlier opinion—formed on the ride home after turning off the annoying radio—was 100 percent correct. It was futile to appreciate the bustle or “live in the fucking moment” (as one bubbly person trumpeted in the elevator at work, minus the profanity). The cultish prescriptions and overstated joyfulness all sounded oxymoronic to Karin; utopian hogwash crafted by Mad Men and greedy department stores, and profit-obsessed Wall Street. It was all painfully obvious and downright childish conduct, and Karin determined she had had enough. 

Is it too late to book a trip to the Bahamas? I can do that. I’m old now. 

Karin was thirty-eight. Not young enough for naïve holiday excitement and too old to celebrate mythical events. That included the alleged birth of Manger Boy and Coke’s ridiculous interpretation of an obese, soda-chugging St. Nick. Karin repetitively patted her nails on the counter, hunched over, stewing, trying to direct her rage toward something or someone more finite. When she recognized flights would be too expensive, she cursed Big Sugar, Religious Kooks, and Pagans for all this hoopla. 

Yeah, Xmas is one hell of a scam, she thought.  

Karin’s face was radiant and red. 

“Maybe I’m just too cynical,” she stated, snapping out of the daze. Karin seized her purse, searched for the plastic bag containing her gift, and tossed it on the counter. Sidetracked, she recalled the mail and started leafing through the giant stack. An ad for Toys R Cool was triggering. “Oh, my god!” she yelled, remembering she hadn’t bought her nephew anything yet. 

Karin frantically opened the odds and ends drawer, the one next to the one for silverware that was empty because the utensils were all floating around in the sink. Luckily, she found some unused gift cards to re-gift. 

“Hope he likes The Candle Store.” Karin frowned, unsure if Jimmy was nine or ten. It’s not like the kid was that good, anyway. He probably spent more time in after-school detention than anywhere else, and at the party tonight, he would presumably kick her leg and pretend it was someone else. All—damn—night. 

A real gem of a nephew, she thought, Jimmy The Gem. Karin snorted at the new nickname, speculating how long it would take before Jimmy needed bail money. 

She glanced at the clock on the stove, reminded that there was so much to do.

But Karin was feeling rebellious and strongly anti-tradition. 

She unsnapped her bra, tossing it in the other room. Nick wasn’t home yet and would probably be late to the party—a “naughty boy,” as he loved to joke with a dramatic wink. Karin decided she might as well be bad too. I’m so sick of being responsible and on time and doing everything around here, she reasoned.  

The badness began when Karin's lips clamped down on the seductress' soft stubby leg. “Not too bad,” she said, staring at the gingerbread woman that was cleverly frosted to emulate a female. While chewing, Karin turned to the bare tree in the corner. They would have to decorate it late tonight, per Nick’s tradition.  

“Stupid tree,” she mumbled, taking another bite. “I wonder how much he paid for that, with inflation and all. We should’ve gotten a fake one.” 

After ten minutes of pondering whether spartan, undecorated trees were perhaps the next big social media trend, Karin’s bladder demanded attention. She sat the cookie down. Once in the bathroom, after peering down between her legs, she became perplexed and wide-eyed. 

Her pee was, without a doubt, changing colors. 

Blue and purple and green. It eventually settled on something more Dijon. 

Although Karin tried to forget the urinary rainbow, she was a little worried. But after flushing and washing her hands and splashing some water on her face, she embraced the strangeness that the naughty gingerbread woman seemed to provide. 

It brought a refreshing pace change and a much different perspective. 

Of course, she now vaguely recalled that a disclaimer had accompanied the gift. Something about how it could get “a little crazy.”  

“Ok,” Karin had said, skeptical. 

“But I guarantee it will be your most chill Christmas Eve ever.”

Sure. Sure it would.

Karin realized the hippie girl coworker was right, right about when the walls started changing colors and when the ceiling featured puffy marshmallow clouds. She tried to shrug off all the bizarreness, and a strange sense of calm overwhelmed any fears associated with the abrupt visual distortion. Karin waltzed to the living room, imitating Jimmy Stewart singing Auld Lang Syne before abruptly crashing onto the couch. 

She felt exceedingly tired and heavy, and her mind drifted.  

Karin noticed the tree’s sudden transformed appearance in the corner, which distracted her from everything she still had to do. 

“You are naked, I’m afraid,” she giggled, pointing at the tree. The tree’s aura was noticeably different. It looked lit up, even though that was impossible. Everything looked different now, but Karin assumed she was still acclimating to the gingerbread woman’s leg. After all, she was a novice with such things. 

Intrigued and hungry, Karin rolled off the couch, left the tree to do its weird “glowy thing” and walked out to the kitchen, where the remaining seductress lay on the counter, vulnerable and amputated. 

One leg was entirely gone.

Karin put a hand to her stomach, feeling a little bubbly. 

Her coworker said: “eat it slowly.” So she did. But the cookie girl said nothing about drinking. 

“I want some ice-cold milk. A lot of milk,” she announced. Karin swung the fridge open, unscrewed the cap, and drank directly from the carton. That felt even better. She was living life on the edge now, like a rebellious teen. However, when she put the carton down, she realized it was not milk. It was Nick’s horrible Egg Nog. Karin smacked her lips and shook her head, bewildered. That's strange, she thought. It tastes … good. 

Karin returned to the counter and decided that she didn't like that the anatomy was so imbalanced. So she bit the other leg, and it looked better. Everything looked better now; before she knew it, she had devoured the whole thing. So nice, and rich and molasses-ess-see, and chewy and mellowing. Could life really be this nice?

Damn, she realized. I have been missing out. 

This had to be the nicest gift anyone had ever given her for Christmas.   

Karin stumbled over to the gas fireplace. She turned it on; it was cold. She wanted to lie down on the sofa again but missed. Karin closed her eyes—the room was spinning. 

When Karin woke up, she was confused and numb.  

Nick was standing over her, his voice warbly and worried. When she heard him say her name, Karin felt mildly relieved. 

A woman who he called a nurse ran over, checking things. 

Karin heard something about passing out. Gas poisoning. She was in the hospital. 

Karin then noticed the voices of her uncle, aunt, cousin, and little Jimmy.

“You ok, hun?” asked Nick. “You had us worried.”

Karin cleared her froggy throat and indicated she was happy to see everyone—for the first time in a long time.

“What day is it?” she asked.

“Christmas!” everyone replied.

The best day of her life. 

Until she realized she could hear but couldn't see everyone. Or anything. Karin batted her eyes furiously. The result was unchanged. Her stomach sank, and Karin gripped Nick’s hand, never so scared, never so in shock. 

Somehow, though, she felt like everything was going to be ok. 

She felt grateful. And uncynical. And at peace. And fuzzy. And suddenly less tired. 

The snapping woke her up. 

Karin sat upright on the floor and screamed.

Nick asked her what the hell she was doing.

The party was in ten minutes. 

Karin sat silent, eyes darting around, taking in the room and her husband, which were as vivid as ever. 

My god, she thought, what a crazy trip. 

“Hey!” repeated Nick, “you ready to go to the party?”

Karin smiled and nodded and was never happier to attend.