The 6 Signs of Christmas
Sign #1
I believe it has something to do with a particular preceding holiday.
“Crystal, did you get the sponsor approval for the … Crystal? Are you … are you sleeping?”
Week long narcolepsy. Also clinically known as a “tryptophen overdose.” Typically brought on by large amounts of turkey sandwiches.
“What? No. I had something in my eye … eyes. What were you saying?”
It is here, in my finest moment, on the eighth day of reheated turkey, that the Christmas season officially begins.
Sign #2
There are 30,000 neon- and bulb-covered signs flashing holiday cheer and blinking me into overload. Why ask why? Just go buy! Electronics are fantastic-- just put it on the plastic! I’m not sure where those came from but they won’t get out of my head. I know no one that wants a blender, but somehow I’ve ended up with three.
“I’ll have the triple grande latte please.” Standing in line for my early afternoon coffee, I ponder my chances with Sign #3: Involuntary collision avoidance.
Small children are death in shopping malls. You have no choice but to eye them carefully and proceed painstakingly slowly around their every indecisive movement. Not that they gallivant carelessly through open, easily maneuverable areas, however. No. In fact, they are actually nowhere to be seen until your pace improves to a slight jog -- if not a frantic dash -- at which point the little treasures protrude from every parent’s leg and dart fearlessly through your path.
Now, either by the grace of the holiday gods you quickly shift your momentum to a magazine stand or sunglass hut, or you simply lay the kid out in front of hundreds of people. Trust me: I’d rather be strewn halfway across a Cosmopolitan shelf than take the stares from the kid’s holiday-happy parents. (There’s nothing like crowded malls and reprobate offspring to bring the true joy out in parents.)
But that’s all just if you don’t knock the kid over. Generally, all your energy will go into stopping WAY too much mass at WAY too great a speed: your feet will stop, your upper body will NOT, the arms swing (currently the kid sports no interest in relocating himself) and in .03 seconds flat the shift of momentum fails, you’re horribly off balance, and you’re exposed to the holiday shopping world as the monster you are. Both you and the three-foot obstruction are entangled on the hard mall floor and one of you is crying. Sometimes both.
“EXCUSE ME. 15 more days. Hurry up.”
“What?”
“Your change is 15.48. It will be right up.”
Oh. I had forgotten I even ordered coffee.
Precocious entrepreneur, workaholic and a rabid perfectionist Crystal Starlight knows a thing or two about getting ahead at a young age. Email her at [email protected]