When I was little, there was some broad named Maureen who was the local notary public, and as a kid, I had no fucking clue what that even meant, but that my dad would openly call her a dish.
I didn’t know what that meant that either. I mean, my mom explained it, sure. “It means he thinks she’s hot,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. I always thought it was a stupid way of saying that someone is hot.
It wasn’t until we got Trudy that I truly understood the sentiment behind the term. Because good Lord, my friends, my fucking Xmas mannequin is a goddamn dish.
Especially now that she’s all metallic green and draped in glowing lights and glittering garland. She is a fucking BABE SUPREME.
Finally, after nearly 20 years of pining for a mannequin to pile Christmas presents beneath, I finally had one in my house, my dream was being realized after all this time. No more Christmas trees, real or artificial, that made me feel like I was being untrue to myself. It might seem like a joke to you, but I’m sure there are psychotherapists out there who could draw some conclusions, connect from metaphorical dots, and give my addiction a name.
But for now, let’s just call what it is: my time to finally get down with a holiday like the rest of you.
And finally, Saturday evening was trimming time. I invited Janna and Corey because who better to celebrate the unveiling of Douglas Fir’s hot sister than the two people who are like, “No, this is normal. I mean, there will be wine though, right?”
Corey was already wound up before he even got here. Sadly, Janna saw this on Instagram (I THOUGHT SHE RARELY CHECKED IT!) so she was on to Corey’s plan. Oh well. There will be other times to lace her ‘Tussin.
I happily set out Angie’s cookie dough truffles, and Corey mistakenly thought that I cared enough to get them specifically for him and Janna. “Pfffft, no!” I laughed. “Angie had extras and gave them to me after breakfast today.” Corey didn’t seem to care either way, because they were delicious and he kept making me text her to tell her.
And then it was, “TELL ANGIE I’M EATING ANOTHER ONE! HERE, SEND HER A PICTURE!”
Meanwhile, Corey’s contributions to the night was a pack of Toasty peanut butter crackers. He shared, at least.
Henry didn’t even have the boxes of decoration ready to go! So I had to berate him in front of our guests while he flared his nostrils before disappearing into the basement to fetch our whopping two whole boxes of Christmas decor. We’re really into holidays.
While Henry untangled lights, I reminisced over the first time we bought a tree for the house, when Chooch was 4. I had never bothered previously because for me, it was No Mannequin, Why Bother? But then this awful thing called SOCIETAL PRESSURE happened and I though it was The Right Thing To Do now that I had a kid in preschool. My mom actually bought a live tree for us from Home Dept and brought over some of my old baby ornaments and a shit ton of tinsel and then peaced out before Henry had a chance to complain. It’s hard to remember back to a time when my mom was still a mom, and that was definitely one of the last happy memories she gave me.
My friend Alisha came over to help decorate that year, and when I realized that we didn’t have a tree topper, I cut a star out of a disposable baking tin and then taped it to a McDonald’s straw.
I’ve been using it every year (except for the one year when I swapped it out for a Jonny Craig Angel topper, ugh) but I had to replace the McDonald’s straw two years ago.
I sent Alisha a picture of the tree topper (she lives in Arkansas now) and she was like, “Gee, you know that you can get an actual tree topper at Walmart, right?” But even though I’m not poor anymore, I will never throw this away! It has too much sentimental value.
Anyway, After Henry strung up the lights, I strangled her with one strand of garland and then basically pawned the rest off on everyone else because decorating shit makes me tired and the hockey game was on and I wanted to drink more wine.
The phalanges came in handy.
Earlier in the day, she was in the dining room. I forgot she was there, turned too fast, and got slapped by a hard green hand right in the face. It hurt so bad but I was like, “Trudy, I can’t hate you” so I tried to just laugh along with Henry, who unfortunately witnessed the abuse.
I put a Henry ornament right up in the crotch.
Speaking of crotch, I considered dressing her in a pair of granny panties, but laziness overruled the idea, so bottom-nude it is.
My dream is to get Henry’s mom JUDY to pose with TRUDY for this year’s Xmas card.
“Is grandma going to have her pants off, too?” Chooch asked.
Corey and Chooch both aspire to be Vine famous. Chooch made this Vine without any of us paying attention and then Corey saw it and was like YOU TOTALLY HAVE THE VINE HUMOR DOWN! and now I think he’s trying to be his agent or coach or something. I don’t know.
Meanwhile, Chooch taught himself how to play the Tetris music on his keyboard, so it was the perfect lunacy soundtrack for Corey’s incessant gushing over the truffles. Over and over, faster and faster. Our house is literally onomatopoeia for “pandemonium.”
You can hear Henry gruffly bitching at Chooch in the background. Something about crackers.
Everything feels more homey now that Trudy’s around.
I struggle every year when the holiday season rolls around. Some years are easier than others. This past Thanksgiving, even though I chose not to do anything, was just another reminder of how abnormal things became after the passing of my grandfather. Most years, I try to fight back by going out of my way to celebrate with friends and the few family I have in my life. But now that Trudy is here, I finally feel excited again. It’s like a new beginning! A new tradition born! THE MANNEQUIN THAT SAVED CHRISTMAS!
I woke up the next day more hungover than I was that time we dyed Easter eggs in 2011. So…total success.
In related news, I couldn’t stop thinking about Notary Publics last night in bed.
“What are they even?” I asked Henry, who was about 85% asleep by then. “All they do is like stamp shit right?”
And then: “Do you think I could be one?”
“Sure. Be whatever,” Henry murmured into his pillow.No tags for this post.