It appears that I’m the only blogger on the face of the Universe who hasn’t posted anything related to the holiday season. We can’t have that, now can we? After rummaging through my mental file of Christmas stories, I’ve found one that I think you’ll enjoy.
When you think of Christmas, you probably envision your family gathering together in front of the fireplace, feasting on scrumptious treats, joyously opening presents and telling heartwarming stories. Me too. However, I get an added Christmas treat. Because my family finds great amusement in messing with me, I now have the pleasure of wondering what kind of joke I’ll be at the center of on Christmas day. This is a new tradition. I’m not sure how it was started or why. I just know that it will probably never go away and that I’ll have to deal with it for the rest of my life.
Last Christmas morning, I arrived at my parents’ house in my finest footie pajamas. Are you laughing at that? Well, if you haven’t worn these as an adult, you’re missing out. Anyway, as I walked in, I could tell something was up, because everyone was staring at me. At first I assumed they were just intrigued by the fact that I was wearing an outfit traditionally worn by toddlers. But then, as I made my way into the living room, I saw something quite ghastly. Then I heard snickering, followed by uproars of laughter. This is what I found:
My sister Whitney and sister-in-law Lauren named this creature “Fake Carly.” They all got together the night before to build this Frankencarly and have fun at my expense. Here are the plotters after they completed their scheming:
This picture was taken just after my first glance at Fake Carly. Please note the looks of pure happiness on their faces.
Here, I’m taking it all in. Forgive the laser eyes. I don’t have the photo shop skills to fix that.
Finally, Fake Carly and I become friends.
Now, you’re probably wondering what a few of the details on Fake Carly’s fake person represent. I’ll explain:
Hair made of shredded trash bags: I’ll take this as the ultimate insult against my hair, although I must say…its level of shine and lack of frizz is quite attractive.
Atrophied muscle tissue: I’m the least athletic person in my family and they like to remind me of this often. In my defense, I didn’t get the athletic gene that everyone else did. It’s not my fault I’m terrible at sports or retaining what little muscle I’m able to build when working out.
Mug in right hand: This represents my frequent consumption of hot chocolate. It’s delicious and I’m not ashamed of my stockpile.
Box of Simply Sleep on left thigh and Ambien pill in right hand: I like sleep aids and my family believes I have a problem. Allow me to roll my eyes. I know, they say denial is the first sign. But you know what, the Nile is just a river in Egypt (let me know if you need me to explain that one).
Dog sitting on lap: This is a Beanie Baby replica of my dog Yogi, who passed away a mere 14 months prior to the date this picture was taken. That wound was still fresh and I believe my family was trying to rub salt in said wound by reminding me of the way Yogi and I would cuddle together. I don’t think they ever liked Yogi, especially after he went blind and lost all control of his bodily functions. I miss him.*
Bra on outside of clothing: A few years ago, my family and I took a trip to Puerto Rico. We were staying in a quaint little bungalow in the rain forest. My parents stayed in one room and Whitney, Lauren, Reese and I stayed in the neighboring room. (Zach stayed home to sell his and Lauren’s house). Us girls were being silly and for some reason, I thought it would be funny to wear my bra on the outside of my shirt. So I did. Later that night, a giant spider invaded our room. We couldn’t tolerate such a thing, so we embarked on a journey to kill it. Well, Lauren and I began the journey. Whitney and Reese joined in after we woke them up as we jumped from one bed to the next hoping to scare the spider away. We used all means we could think of- throwing shoes at it, hitting the wall hoping it would fall off so that we could smush it, dousing it with hairspray. Nothing worked. It was a madhouse. Not surprisingly, this awoke my parents and my dad came over to see why we were screaming, giggling and banging on the walls all at the same time. He walked in, killed the spider and walked out. Gosh, men know how to do everything. Anyway, it later occurred to us that the look of confusion on my dad’s face was likely attributable to my bra situation, which I had completely forgotten about. I’m a pretty modest person clothing-wise, so my embarrassment was a great source of laughter for everyone else.
I’m currently living in fear of this year’s joke. I’ve noticed my family’s whisperings and plotting-like behaviors over the last few weeks. One of my predictions is that there isn’t a joke at all and that they’re just trying to rile me up. I think this is possible, especially given their willingness to discuss the matter right in front of me rather than over the phone or via email. I’m considering bribing my niece to tell me everything she knows. I’ve also considered playing a retaliation joke on them, but I don’t have time for that. Maybe next year.
*This is evidence that my dad is wrong in his belief that “Carly doesn’t miss people,” which was stated in a recent family email. Yes, I know Yogi wasn’t a person. Wait…maybe he’s right. Maybe I only miss animals. If I had a shrink I would definitely want to discuss this.