Posing As Normal© The Humor of Mary Tompsett

Helliday Preparations ........Said the shepherd boy to the little lamb, do I smell like you smell? Gee, that can’t be right. And the German Shepherd bit the drummer boy.... Wait, wait! ........Sorry, my mind is mincemeat. You’ve heard the saying about our lives being like tapestries? Intricate, yadda yadda, woven threads? Well, kids, every December the edges of this here tapestry begin to unravel. Peek underneath and you’ll find knots the size of cheap fruitcakes. ........There’s the usual “to do” list: decorate, shop for gifts, bake cookies, get my first colonoscopy, trim the tree, wrap presents…. ........Hold your ponies, buckaroos! ........Colonoscopy?? What was I thinking? Oh, well. It may not be a typical holiday event, but after chugging eight gallons of ye olde cleansing goop, I’ll be dancin’ the jingle bell rock, all right. ........On to the list. While the radio played Baby, It’s Colon Outside, I hauled out the decorations and, Lo! Mice hath partied in there all summer. This was a clear sign from God to fling a strand of Halloween lights over the TV and call it done. ........A holiday portrait might be fun, so I herded my pets over to Sears. Oh, ’twas a holly jolly time! My dog chewed up the fake snow, and then pooped sparkles for a week. And the cats? Let’s see…eight paws times five claws each, add a giant wicker Santa throne, and divide by two bottles of Tums…. ........To pay for the shredded throne, I offered to be a Santa. But the Amalgamated Order of Real Bearded Santas said no, to try again in 20 years. With luck, testosterone levels will prevail by then, turning Yours Truly into a silver werewolf. Far out. ........At church I typed and mailed 3,000 flyers to “Welcome the Lard into your hearts!” One typo, and Hark! Mail poured in from irate clergy and cardiologists, plus a few lonely dairy farmers. ........Made cookies “from scratch.” Sort of. I got badly scratched in the store while wrestling the last few tubes of dough away from some broad with a walker. Did you know that extra frosting covers doggie teethmarks? And it seems the batch goes further if you slice up the dough instead of baking the tubes whole. ........How about crafts? Right. Like I graduated from June Cleaver University. Actually, I did well in bouffant hair and vacant staring. But I flunked ironing in high heels, and dropped out of the Yes, Dear internship. ........Nervous about the colonoscopy, however, I focused on creating Martha Stewart’s tree-topper angels. In the background, good old Bing was singing Silver Bowels. Anyway, Martha’s plans called for making the bodies, wings and harps out of everyday items: 6th century Mayan glass, white gingko leaves, and dried Peruvian pine sap. ........Okey dokey. I tore apart 150 rolls of Charmin, glitter-sprayed the cardboard tubes, and duct-taped “wings” out of shoulder pads collected since 1985. And the little harps? Leftover estrogen patches! The angels are supposed to look androgynous, celestial and pure. Hmm…something’s wrong. Mine glitter like pygmy hookers, and they’re already growing breasts. ........The medical test went fine – whew! I think the Cliff’s Notes helped. So I’m back to my usual shallow prayers: Please, Santa, bring me a novelty “man arm” pillow – the deluxe version with its own checking account and a recording of Johnny Depp whispering, “You’re right, again!” and “Wow, great abs, babe!” ........Yes, the Sears portrait fizzled, but I’ve acquired another, better photo. My family and 300 close friends will receive a framed and matted 8x10-inch color glossy of my transverse colon. If only the house were so clean! ........In closing, I hope Santa leaves a special gift under your tree, perhaps a life-size Chia Head of Donald Trump with comb-over vines. Or, for those of you secretly hoping for something sexy yet practical, a case of thong-cut Depends. ........And the shepherd boy ordered leg o’ lamb….