Tears & Cheer.

There was a reason I didn’t put makeup on during that particular morning.

I knew there was a reason.

Because without even knowing it would happen, I wound up crying.

And no one wants to see this mascara ridden face when she cries.

No one.

Let’s see: it was around Christmas-time.

What day, I don’t remember exactly.

What I do remember is that I was working, and it was manic.

Like a bad dream, this particular shift had me transported back to this summer; which, if you don’t know, was The Worst Working Summer of My Life.

Working through the irreparable damage that this summer cost me as a food service worker, it was a challenge for me to stay positive on this particular day.

Basically, there was a line out the door all. day. long.

We were short-staffed, yet again. Battling the onslaught of waffle tickets, I not only had to ignore the misbehaving children running laps up and down the aisle, but I had to wear the face of accommodation and politeness, as was my job.

Even if, on the inside, I was literally screaming.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

It was in the midst of this chaos though, that there suddenly rang the sweet sound of bells.

Now my first thought was: I swear if it’s kids that walk through that door ringing those damn bells…

And so, preparing myself to put on the face of Scrooge, I was surprised when it wasn’t kids that walked through that door, but Santa.

Wait. Santa?

Yes. The Santa Claus.

And it was like all time had stopped.

Coming out from behind the counter to take a closer look at Santa Claus who just so happened to waltz into our doors on the seemingly worst day of my life, I found a kid already with him, looking up at Santa’s face with the same fascination and awe that was written on mine.

And then I started to cry.

Because out of all the things to happen during a shift that was taking so much out of me emotionally, physically, and mentally, I never in my life, expected my saving grace to be THE Santa Claus.

But there he was: jolly, grinning, and spreading Christmas cheer.

And I just… couldn’t stop crying.

I was so overcome with emotion.

Santa Claus!

While I would’ve loved to jump on his lap and ask him for the day to just end and the screaming children to just shut up, I instead thanked him.

For saving me, for inspiring me, for making me realize that even during the worst of days, there’s opportunity for joy and light.

I guess, in the end, it was still a good thing that I didn’t put makeup on during that particular morning.

But I’m glad I cried. I’m glad I was moved to tears. And, like that little kid staring up at Jolly Old Saint Nicholas, I’m glad Santa was there when he was.

I’d like to think it was a little bit of Christmas magic that made him come in on that particular morning..

Cheers to you, Santa.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

It was a chilly winter’s eve and I was wearing nothing but my skivvies.

Dressed in a slinky (and rather sheer) pink negligee (which is more than I usually wear to bed), and hair done up in holiday fashion (complete with tinsel bow), I arrived at the Christmas party absolutely freezing, but dressed ever so stylishly for a holiday pajama party.

Though if I were really sticking to what I wear to bed (or don’t wear), it would’ve consisted of a lot less fabric.

But it wasn’t that kind of party.

Joining arms with my gem and tiptoeing over frozen snow, we made our way to the front door, like a scene straight out of a Hallmark movie.

All that was missing was some fresh falling snow.

What greeted us on the inside was a beautifully decorated home, a most welcoming reprieve from the cold outside.

On what felt like day 1,450,600 of negative degree temps (yeah, it’s been a brrrreathtaking one this year), the warmth of our friend’s house felt especially comforting and toasty on this particularly frigid eve.

Especially after the one (or two, three…was it four?) martinis that I nursed that night.

Toasty for sure.

Initially, I went to the party with good responsible intentions.

See, I had work the next morning. Knowing I needed to open up the coffee shop at an atrociously early hour in minus zero degree temps, I showed up to the party with the idea that I would leave at a reasonable time. You know, to get my beauty sleep.

Unfortunately, Father Rumchata had different plans for me.

Verry different plans.

As I went from one martini to the next, all I could think was: that’s the spirit!

Because it was, literally.

The company, the cocktails, the freedom and confidence of rocking an essentially see-through nightgown became more tempting to me than being a proper adult.

And so, as the hours passed and the temperatures dropped as quickly as my inhibitions, it became clear that I was in no position to drive.

Let alone get an early night’s rest.

My gem, the more responsible one at this particular gathering, wound up safely driving me back to his house, where my car sat parked in -18 degrees.

Brr.

After making it inside, I started to joke that I should probably think about getting home.

He sat patiently, grinning at me.

(duh, I was staying)

And like another scene out of that same Hallmark movie, he started to sing a little Christmas ditty.

Maybe you know it:

I really can’t stay

“Baby, it’s cold outside”

I’ve got to go away

“Baby, it’s cold outside”

This evening has been

“Been hoping that you’d dropped in”

So very nice

“I’ll hold your hands they’re just like ice”

In that moment, despite the actual cold my numb nips were feeling, my whole body suddenly got warm.

I don’t know how else to describe it.

See, I grew up watching Hallmark movies like this as a child. I became the biggest hopeless romantic hoping, wishing, and praying that that girl in the movies would someday be me.

And then, in an ordinary moment, after many generous glasses of sweet alcoholic enjoyment, something like this happens and all of a sudden it’s just… better.

I mean, of course it’s better.

Because it’s no longer me longing to be that girl. It’s me being this girl, the star of her very own magical Christmas story.

Uniquely written for just me and him.

Obviously, I didn’t end up going home that night. I think had I been able to, I still would’ve chosen to stay with my gem.

I had everything I needed already there.

My man, to keep me nice and warm.

A place to rest my weary head.

And look at that: I was even wearing pajamas.