Page 62 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
The pelvic thrust!
That was not necessary.
That was a cheap shot, and he took it.
And I know that rolling Aunt Cindy out onstage was a cheap shot as well, but Christmas is about family. We were playing into the theme. Whereas Cole was sexualizing Christmas with that thrust.
And don’t even get me started on Atlas’s seated position. Let’s just say the crowd got a good look at his holly stick and berries.
“You have to let it go,” Aunt Cindy says. “We got second place.”
“Yes, which means we’re tied with Cole. I don’t want to be tied with him. I want to beat him.”
“We have five more competitions,” Aunt Cindy says as Taran walks into the living room holding a Tupperware bin with tape all over it, stating the contents are fragile.
The covetedHappy Daysnativity set.
It’s always the last thing to be put out. Taran has taken her time decorating the house for Aunt Cindy, and she’s done a fantastic job, measuring out every garland to the last centimeter. She’s dusted every surface, polished, and carefully placed each decoration where Aunt Cindy has directed her.
And I can honestly say that now that everything is up—the tree brimming with ornaments, every window adorned with velvet ribbons and a battery-lit candle, the pine garland intricately wrapped around the banister, and the gingerbread-themed decor in the kitchen—itfeelslike Christmas.
The Christmas from my childhood, back when I felt excitement for the season all the way down to my toes. When I’d play board games with Taran by the fire. When we’d spend countless hours at the dining room table icing cookies. When we would stare out the window, looking up at the gray clouds, hoping that we’d wake up to freshly fallen snow the next morning.
The smell of it all.
The sight of the familiar decorations…
It’s making me wonder why I pushed this side of my childhood out of my life for so long. Why I’ve neglected to live in this feeling.For years.
Why I told myself that I don’t need to curl up on Aunt Cindy’s couch next to the fire and listen to classic Christmas instrumentals, insisting that a Christmas in my apartment…alone…was a much better choice.
Being here again, it’s made me realize it was not a better choice.
“Will you help me?” Taran asks as she opens the top of the container and starts carefully pulling out tissue paper.
I kneel in front of the bin and begin unwrapping the figurines. I have no idea where Aunt Cindy got this nativity set, but I will say, for being a novelty item, they did an excellent job on the figurines—very lifelike.
Naturally, Marion and Howard are Mary and Joseph. The three wise men are Richie, Potsie, and Ralph. Chachi is the shepherd, Joanie is the angel, and who else could be baby Jesus other than the Fonz, sideburns and all.
“I was speaking to Martha this morning,” Aunt Cindy says, “when Taran helped me outside for my daily sun intake, and she was telling me that Sherry was enamored with Cole and Atlas.”
“It was obvious,” I say as I set Joanie on the coffee table. “I think I saw her drooling. And that pelvic thrust. Was that really necessary?”
“The pelvic thrust was shocking,” Taran says.
“Just as shocking as Atlas was in those booty shorts,” Aunt Cindy says, tugging her collar.
Um, pardon me? Is she sweating over there?
“The whole thing was ridiculous and uncalled for. They took a sacred tradition and turned it into a mockery,” I say as I unwrap Richie, his still-vibrant red hair peeking past the tissue paper. “I mean, what we did up there, Aunt Cindy, was touching. I even teared up a bit. And then they came in with their sexually charged booty shorts and lederhosen and just ruined it all.” I snort for good measure, making it clear how displeased I am.
“It was quite the scene,” Taran says.
“Yes, who knew two farm boys could be so…entertaining,” Aunt Cindy says, staring up at the ceiling as if she’s reminiscing on what she saw.
What is going on with her?
First Niall the stripper and now this…
