Barely Knit Together’s Twelve Days of Christmas: The Great Angel Debacle of 2011

Posted on 05 December 2011

Okay, okay. So maybe it’s only like seven days. Or four. We’ll see how it goes, but don’t expect to much.

The angel topper I have for my Christmas tree was purchased many years ago. Like probably about sixteen, which, as glittery things from China go, is a pretty long useful lifespan. The damn thing, though, sheds glitter like a burlesque dancer sheds underclothes and feathers, which is to say, indiscriminately, and fancily. You don’t want to find that shit in your briefcase, am I right? And you certainly don’t want your wife to find it there. Plus it makes eating a rather unpleasant experience, what with the crunching and the sparkly teeth. I’d hate to be called a Twilight fan, and right now, with the pallor, the bloodshot eyes, the insomnia and the blue black hair, glitter is the only thing missing.

So I told my children it was time to find a new angel.

And then I remembered: angels are horrifying creatures! I mean, parts of them are beautiful, sure. The “sparkling vault” over their heads, the twankie dueces with the eyes all over them. I mean, super cool, right? But then you get into the split lion/ox/eagle face thing, and the the fact that they move all creepy and stuff, and are attached together in fours. I mean, I’m not exactly feeling warm and fuzzy and watched over. Hallmark? She lies.

Then my mother made this wonderful offer of letting me raid her boxes of Christmas ornaments because she is moving soon and she can’t move all seventeen boxes of decorations. You read that right. SEVENTEEN. And in there, there might be a decent tree-topper, but since my mom hasn’t had small children in so very long (let’s see, I’m forty and my brother is about to turn thirty-seven, so it’s been like ten years now), she has had “theme” trees every year. Different ones. So instead of normal stars and whatnot, I’m more likely to find a giant peacock, or a miniature of a Dwell apartment, or something that could possibly injure someone. Like me.

So I’m thinking: star. A star on the top of the Christmas tree this year. Cardboard, aluminum foil, recyclable. Something we can all be proud of to cover that empty, phallic spike gracing my living room. If you have one to suggest, please send it on the back of a prescription for Valium and ship it to me overnight. Thanks in advance.