Manolo says, Mr. Henry on primitive feminine pyrotechnics!
Manolo says, it is Tuesday, and you are back at your desk, Christmas barreling down upon you like the runaway train filled with stocking stuffers and mistletoe.
You have tried to minimize the damage this year by doing much of your shopping on the computer, although you know, in your heart, that nothing is better than shoving your way through the crowds at Toys-R-Us and fist-fighting with the other parents for the last Mr. Squiggles Zhu Zhu Pets Hamster.
This struggle for the perfect gift is so atavistic, so primal, so brutal, so… jolly!
Sadly, all of this computer shopping has domesticated your annual holiday struggle, and frankly, although it has made your life less angsty, you still miss the combat.
What can you say. Ever since you were the little girl you have associated Christmas with knocking people down at the mall. Gary blames your mother.
“That woman,” he said one day as she drove away in her Cadillac Eldorado, striking the neighbor’s hedge, “is a menace.”
Yes, your mother is the menace.
But, in her favor, she fought purse-and-nail to make every Christmas the best ever. Indeed, your sister still has the Talky Crissy Doll she joyously unwrapped on Christmas morning, 1972, although, sadly, since early 1976, Crissy’s hair has been stuck in the Dorothy Hammill bob, unable to grow thanks to your attempts at giving her the makeover.
You know what? Maybe a quick trip to the mall wouldn’t hurt. Just pop in, shove the couple of shoppers to the ground, and pop out bearing the sack of presents.
Good times, good times.
Look, here is the beautiful Valentino Side Bow Peep-Toe Pumps to sooth your savage breast.