Tragedy Comes in Threes

I’ve not updated lately. And by lately, I mean in three months. I had to reset my password for the blog, it’s been so long. Yeesh.

It’s been a busy time of year, and it’s only going to get busier. But you’ll find no complaints from me! It’s no secret I’m a lover of Christmas and the whole holiday season. The months of November and December always send me into a state of frenzied joy and anticipation. I love it. Love it, love it, love it!

This time of year does have its share of tragedy, however, particularly these three things that have been weighing heavy on my mind.

1. I can’t wear hats. This makes me incredibly sad and frustrated. When you have as many bad hair days as I do, and with the approaching cold weather, the option to conceal the truth beneath a warm, jaunty cap is like a gift sent from above. Except if you’re me, with an oddly proportioned head that can ruin the cutest chapeau, the choice is off the table. I’ve tried, honest I have. Fedoras and knitted beanies and straw hats and messenger hats and the wide brimmed wool hats that are popping up everywhere. It’s always the same.

I think I’ll look like this: Woman blows snowflakes from her open hands

I really look like this:

pink-hat_680120n1

Sigh. Woe is me. And so on and so forth.

 

images (2)2. There aren’t enough hours to watch Love, Actually at least once a day. It’s a wonderful movie for any time of the year, but during this time of year, “to me, it is perfect”. (See what I did there? If not, watch it.) You take one part Collin Firth, one part Emma Thompson, add a dash of Andrew Lincoln, a superb late 90s/early 00’s sound track, plus London plus Christmas, topped with Hugh Grant’s so-smooth dance moves, and you’ve got the most perfect movie in the history of all movies. And as much as I want to have a nightly viewing of Billy Mack singing in his glittery, shiny pants, it just can’t be done. And that’s a tragedy.

 

3. Seasonal candy. I’ve written about my obsession with seasonal York Peppermint Patties. Valentine’s Day, Easter, Halloween, Christmas – I don’t care which holiday, just keep those freshly made, silver wrapped mints a’comin. But here’s the tragedy: No store, not Walmart or Walgreens or Rite Aid – none of them! – can manage to keep them in stock. Why? In the aisles of holiday candy that Walmart pushes four months in advance of the actual day, two, maybe three small spaces are reserved for YPP’s. Amongst the shelves and shelves of plain M&M’s (seriously?) and fun sized Crunch bars (yawn), they couldn’t carve out a bit more room? As each new season approaches, I return to a time when civilization was made of Hunter-Gatherers. First, I hunt. I scour the aisles and the bottom shelves and the forgotten corners of big-chain megastores and pharmacies. I curse silently when the YPP bin is empty, or worse, isn’t to be found at all. (Hey, big-chain megastore and pharmacy: Who is your buyer? Because they suck.) But…BUT, when I do find them, I become Gatherer and carry off as many bags as I can purchase without looking like a total nut. My limit is two. Okay, three. Three bags is my limit.

Yet even so, tragedy or not, I will do my best to enjoy this most wonderful time of the year. My head may be cold and my hair may be frizzy; and I might not find another bag of seasonal YPP’s until Valentine’s Day; and I may only get to watch Collin Firth botch the Portuguese language once a week, but I will still make the best of it.

And just in case you were wondering, there are only 51 days left.

 

 

 

 

And actually, the number is four. Four bags would be my limit.

 

 

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