Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat

by Jen Mann

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, touching the soft leather.

  “Would you ever carry it?” she asked.

  “When I was your age and had a real job I totally would have.”

  “You don’t think it’s outrageous to spend this much on a purse?” She showed me the price tag. It was as much as the car payment on my minivan.

  “Not at all,” I replied. “You have the money. You have places to carry this bag. Where would I take it? The playground? A PTA meeting? Maybe someday I’ll carry purses that nice again.”

  “You used to carry nice purses,” Grandma said. “I remember.”

  “Yeah, I did. And then I traded in my purse for a diaper bag.”

  “When was the last time you had a new purse?” Grandma asked.

  “I don’t know. A while. I was going to get a new one last year, but then Gomer needed a backpack for school and the one he wanted was close to a hundred dollars. He carries it every day and I rarely leave the house, so it made more sense to spend the money on him.”

  “I see,” said Grandma. “I understand. I have four children, Jenni. You have to be careful with your money and budget it.” She patted my hand and walked away to check on Lucille.

  “I think Grandma will freak out when she sees how much it costs,” Eloise said.

  “Nah, she’s oblivious. She’s got a stack of cash in her purse. Just ask for the money and then I’ll distract her while you pay. She’ll never know how much it cost.”

  “What about Lucille?”

  Lucille was young and single, too, but she was a teacher and didn’t have nearly as much disposable income as Eloise had. “I can distract her, too. She wants jewelry. I’ll take her and Grandma to that department while you check out.”

  “Thanks,” Eloise said.

  After Grandma gave Eloise her cash I asked Lucille to show me what she had her eye on, and we headed over to the jewelry department.

  “I like this necklace,” Lucille said, pointing to the case.

  “It’s pretty,” I said.

  “You should get a necklace, Jenni,” Grandma said. “I never see you wear jewelry.”

  “I know. I used to wear it before Adolpha came along, but she ripped off every necklace I owned. She’s seven now, but I still don’t trust her.”

  Grandma nodded sadly and took Lucille’s necklace to the checkout.

  “Adolpha has more jewelry than you,” said Lucille.

  “Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?” I said, shrugging. “She also has a better wardrobe than me. But she’s the one who leaves the house every day, so…”

  “You keep saying that a lot,” said Eloise, coming up behind me, swinging her new bag.

  “Saying what?”

  “That your kids should get the good stuff because they leave the house more than you. Now that you’ve had kids and you’re writing all the time you barely—”

  “Shower?” Lucille asked. “Comb her hair?”

  “Buy yourself something you really want,” Eloise said.

  “That’s not true,” I said. “I can buy anything I want. I just want practical things now, that’s all. For Christmas, the Hubs and I are getting each other a front-loader washer and dryer. It’s like a dream come true.”

  “What do you mean? That’s what the Hubs is getting you for Christmas?” Eloise asked, frowning. “That sounds awful.”

  “No, not at all. It’s wonderful. I’ve been wanting a set for years now. It will cut my laundry time literally in half. No joke.”

  “So you’ll have nothing to open on Christmas morning?” Lucille asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Surely he’ll get you something. Anything. A charm bracelet or a new sweater?” Lucille asked. I could tell the thought of having nothing to open on Christmas Day was extremely upsetting to her.

  “No, nothing, Lucille. Do you know what a pair of front-loaders costs? Believe me, I’ll be lucky if I get a birthday present in a few months.”

  “What is with your husband? Didn’t you get a vacuum for Mother’s Day?” Eloise asked me.

  “I did! I got the Dyson. I was so excited when I saw the box.”

  “You were excited for a vacuum?” Lucille asked.

  “Do you know what the Dyson can do? Have you seen what my couch looks like after my kids have eaten a box of crackers while binge-watching Disney propaganda?”

  “Well, now I’m officially depressed and never getting married,” said Eloise.

  “I thought I wanted kids, but now I’m not so sure,” said Lucille.

  “You guys, don’t feel bad for me. My life is great. I have my bad-ass minivan, yoga pants for every day of the week, and a husband who is willing to buy front-loaders as his Christmas present. Not many husbands would do that.”

  I was puzzled. Neither of them looked the least bit envious.

  “Uh-huh,” said Lucille.

  “That’s it. We’re going to find you something that you really want tonight, Jen,” said Eloise.

  “I told you. There’s nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you. Think hard. There must be something,” she said. “I’ll even chip in if it’s more than the twenty-five bucks you get from Grandma—which, by the way, is a total rip-off.”

  “I know!” said Lucille. “What’s up with that? You get married and all of a sudden your present budget is cut by seventy-five percent?”

  “You guys, she has to. It’s that way with my parents, too. Most of the budget goes to the kids now. It’s fine.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Eloise. “Inexcusable, really. We have got to get you something amazing tonight.”

  “Yes!” said Lucille. “Let’s get you something nice!”

  I have to admit, I was getting excited. It had been a long time since I’d really shopped for myself. I looked around the department store and took it all in.

  The first area I saw was the shoe department. Did I need any new shoes? I only wear flats, tennis shoes, and Crocs. All of the high heels on display looked wonderful…and painful. Nope. No shoes.

  Next was accessories. I gave up the diaper bag a few years ago and was back to carrying my outlet mall Coach bag. It held everything I needed—wallet, phone, glasses, lip gloss, Handi Wipes, toothbrush, gum, Matchbox car, Silly Putty, bubbles, easy-reader book, Band-Aids, juice pouch, corkscrew, hairbands (man, I’m so glad I don’t carry a diaper bag anymore!)—and still looked good. A new purse would be fun, but nothing really appealed to me.

  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something. It was like a glimmer or a sparkle that caught my eye. What was that? It winked and flashed in the bright overhead lights.

  “What’s that?” I asked, following the light, my cousins close behind me.

  It was a rhinestone on a leopard-print slipper. “Hello, gorgeous,” I said, picking up the slipper.

  “Those aren’t shoes, Jen. They’re slippers,” said Eloise.

  “I know. I spend a lot of time in my office in the basement and the floors are hardwood, so they’re cold on my bare feet. I haven’t had a new pair of slippers since before Gomer was born.”

  “You’re going to get slippers?” Lucille asked.

  “Leopard-print slippers?” Eloise asked.

  The leopard print had caught my eye, but then I saw the Isotoners with memory foam were on sale. “Isotoner,” I whispered. “The good stuff.”

  “What did you find, Jenni?” Grandma joined us.

  “Slippers,” sneered Lucille. “She wants slippers.”

  “I want slippers, Grandma,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. “The ones with memory foam. I’ve wanted them for a long time, but I just couldn’t justify spending that much money on slippers.”

  “They’re on sale, Jenni. You have some money left over. Do you see anything else that you like?” Grandma asked.

  I looked around, not expecting to see anything else. And then I saw the greatest creation known to womankind. “That is amazeballs,” I said, picking up a fuzzy thingamajig.
r />   “Oh God. What is that?” Eloise asked, laughing.

  “It’s like a blanket that goes over your head,” said Lucille, wrinkling her nose.

  “You guys. It’s a fleece hooded muumuu. My three favorite things: fleece, hoods, and muumuus. And look, it’s on clearance. Why would this ever be on clearance? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Grandma, I want this, too, please.”

  My cousins died a little inside that night and vowed to never age past thirty. But little do they know. Forty is when you can get away with wearing a fleece caftan and no one even bats an eye. I’m warm and cozy (because unlike that POS Snuggie, this sucker covers your back and has a hood—genius!), plus it comes in cool, fun, hip designs. Mine is black and white polka dots because black is slimming, even in a one-size-fits-all fleece blanket with armholes.

  What is the deal with Christmas caroling? Who are these people who enjoy this sort of behavior? I thought Christmas caroling went out of fashion when Dickens died, but I’ve been told that I’m wrong. For some reason my house doesn’t attract too many Christmas carolers. I’m thinking it has something to do with our less-than-festive light display. Or it could just be the Hubs. Hard to say.

  It was about eight-thirty on a cold December night when our doorbell rang. “What the…?” the Hubs grumbled, hitting pause on the DVR. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No, of course not,” I said, motioning to my fleece muumuu, which by the way is the best Christmas present I’ve ever received. (Thank you, Grandma!) “I would have at least put on yoga pants if I knew someone was coming over.”

  “Hmm. Let’s just ignore it and see if they go away,” the Hubs said.

  We started up the DVR again, and about a minute later the bell sounded for a second time. “Oh come on!” I said. “If that’s the neighbor kid ding-dong-ditching us again, I’m going to be pissed. They wake up the kids every time they do it.”

  “I don’t think it’s them. They only do it in the summer. It’s too cold tonight to be assholes.”

  “Well, then who is ringing our doorbell? It’s way too late for the UPS guy.”

  “Shh,” the Hubs commanded. “Listen. What is that?”

  I strained my ears, and then I heard it: the low hum of a group of people whispering on my porch. “Go check it out,” I whispered. We crept to the front door so we could peek through the window. Is this a home invasion? I worried. I’d recently seen a story on the news where people would ring a doorbell, and if no one answered, they’d kick in the door and steal the Christmas presents from under the tree—like the Grinch, but with a gun. “I think we’re being robbed,” I whispered, grabbing my cell phone.

  “Is the alarm set?” the Hubs asked.

  “Yup,” I replied, snatching the closest weapon I could find: a Black and Decker Dustbuster that I’d told Gomer to put away earlier that day. Which he of course didn’t. The Dustbuster wasn’t that lethal, but I was confident I could whack someone upside the head pretty good with it. It would have to do in a pinch. I’ve never actually punched anyone in the throat, but I was fully prepared to go all Mama Bear and jab an intruder in the throat with that Dustbuster. I’m a little bit like a ninja with my cleaning tools. I don’t just stop dust bunnies, I stop attackers.

  The voices outside were getting louder, and the bell rang again, causing me to jump. The Hubs pulled back the blind and looked out the window.

  “Who is it?” I asked, dialing 911, my thumb poised over the send button on my cell phone.

  “Oh shit,” the Hubs said, visibly relaxing. “It’s only carolers.”

  “It’s who?” I asked.

  “Christmas carolers.”

  “Oh man!” I complained, dropping the Dustbuster. “They scared the shit out of me!”

  “I know,” the Hubs said. “I was a little nervous, too.”

  “Crap. Now what are we supposed to do?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do we know any of them?”

  “I’m not sure,” the Hubs said.

  “Here, let me look,” I said. “Maybe we could pretend we’re not home.” We traded places, and when I looked through the window, I accidentally made eye contact with a woman I recognized from church. She waved vigorously and pointed me out to her fellow singers. “Damn it! She saw me.”

  “Who did?”

  “What’s-her-face from church. The greeter who always says hi to us and asks us if we’re new, even though we’ve been going there for five years. She saw me. Now she knows we’re home.”

  “What now? I guess we should open the door?”

  “Not yet. I don’t even have a bra on,” I said. I opened the blinds and held up one finger—the universal sign for “one minute”—to the church lady. I ran into the bedroom, flung off my fleece muumuu, and grabbed my bra, grumbling the whole time. “It’s like ten degrees out there! Who goes out singing on a night like tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Should we invite them in to sing?” the Hubs asked.

  “No! They’ll wake the kids,” I said. “Plus our house is a mess. I can’t have that woman see what a disaster we live in.”

  “I don’t even think they’ll notice the mess,” the Hubs said.

  “We have luggage from our trip to New York in June sitting in the front hall because you won’t put it away.”

  “We’re going to need it again in a few months when we go to Florida for spring break!”

  “Fine. Whatever. I’m not going to argue about the suitcases right now. Let’s just go out there and listen to one song and then send them on their way,” I said, pulling my shirt back on and slipping into some shoes.

  “Okay,” the Hubs agreed.

  We opened the door and were met with an arctic blast of air.

  “Merry Christmas!” the church lady said.

  “It’s awfully cold to be out singing tonight, isn’t it?” I asked, my teeth chattering.

  “The spirit of the season is keeping us warm,” said a man near the back of the group.

  Uh-huh.

  “Jen, close the door,” the Hubs griped. “You’re letting out all of the heat!”

  “Aren’t you coming out?” I whispered.

  “No. It’s too cold. I can hear them sing through the door,” he said, closing the door in my face.

  Are you kidding me, Hubs? You asshole. I stood on the porch shivering. I wondered if I could ask for another minute while I grabbed a coat. It wouldn’t even take a minute since I never hang it up—it’s always thrown over a dining room chair right inside the door. Eh, screw it. Let’s not waste any more time, I thought. I just wanted to get this over with. “Okay,” I said. “Hit it!”

  Someone pulled out a pitch pipe and gave the group a note. I don’t think anyone heard the note, because they all started on a different one. I was assaulted with the worst version of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” my poor ears have ever heard.

  Now I was met with a huge dilemma. I felt stupid standing there listening to my own private (terrible) concert. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing. I have no idea what to do with myself. Should I smile and nod? Tap my foot? I knew the words; should I join in and sing along? I wouldn’t sound any worse than their warbling. I still hadn’t decided what to do when I realized they were wrapping up. Oh good, but what now? I wondered. What should I do when they finish? Clap? Demand an encore? This is why I should never answer the door after December 1 unless someone has made an appointment.

  I went with clapping. It seemed like the right thing to do. “Thank you very much,” I said. “That was nice.” I turned to go back inside the house.

  “Hold on! We’re just getting started!” the church lady said.

  “Uhhh…” Just getting started? My feet were numb! “It’s so cold! I can’t believe you want to keep going!” I exclaimed. “You really don’t need to keep singing. I’m good. Surely there are other homes you want to visit?” I asked, motioning to all of the dark houses on the cul-de-sac. My street is never that dark. The je
rks must have heard the off-key singing and hit the kill switches on their lights.

  “Doesn’t look like many are home. We can wait while you get a coat,” the church lady said.

  Shoot. What could I say? I’m too cold to stand here and listen to you sing another off-key song didn’t seem very neighborly or Christmasy. I sighed heavily. I was going to have to get my coat and listen to some more songs. “Hang on one sec,” I said. “Let me get a coat. I’ll be right back.”

  I opened the door and looked back at the group. “Can I get you guys anything?” I asked stupidly. There were at least twenty people on my front lawn. What was I offering? Hot cocoa for everyone? A glass of wine? All I had in my kitchen was water and a gallon of milk that had expired the day before.

  Luckily no one took me up on my offer.

  I ducked back in the house to grab my coat. The lights in the front hall were all off and the Hubs was back in our bedroom, snuggled into the warm bed. “What are you doing?” I asked him.

  “I got cold,” he said. “Did you lock the door?”

  “No. They want to keep singing. They have more songs.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “So then what are you doing here?”

  “I’m getting my coat. I was freezing out there. You need to come out with me. It’s super awkward. I don’t know what to do with my hands or where to look. Am I supposed to tip them? Do you have any cash? And I’m saying stupid stuff. I asked them if I could get them anything!”

  “What? Like a hot toddy or something?”

  “I guess so. I feel like they’re freezing off their asses on my porch bringing me fucking holiday cheer, so the least I could do is offer them a nip of something!”

  “We don’t have anything except water and expired milk, Jen! Did anyone say yes?”

  “No. Thank goodness.”

  “It’s okay—someone else probably gave them drinks. They’ve got to be drunk, right? Only drunk people would go caroling.”

  “I don’t think so. They seem really with it for drunk people. Plus, there’s a bunch of kids with them. They can’t be drunk.”

  “You gotta get back out there. They’re waiting for you!” the Hubs said.