And Goodwill To All Men

Those of you in the know will realize that the weeks leading up to Christmas have been a bit like playing badminton with feathered landmines for me. (and I suck at badminton) What with the mourning for the Maldives, the burning of bridges formerly cherished and carefully tended (burnt, I must admit, with a gleeful sort of abandon once the initial rage had passed. Napalmed the suckers would have been more appropriate), working the legal eagle brain cells (I do occasionally get some done between blogging and saving the world) and trying desperately to shop for Christmas presents which my family, The Boy, the Sisterhood and the one Brudder would love while trying not to commit murder against the Assembled Idiots which come out to play in the festive season on Orchard Road.

But by Christmas Eve, the presents were bought, packages were wrapped (with much creative cursing usually heard only in NYC ghettos and really bad rap songs), and Slinky finally came to peace with the fact that there would be no turkey. I put all the presents under the tree (reluctantly, in some cases, since I REALLY liked some of the shit I bought) and changed for dinner, since once again, my hot shorts had fallen victim to yet another play session with the Mad Mutts, i.e., dog drool heaven.

And then, in my favorite part of the evening, The Boy appears framed heroically in her doorway, wearing very gay and hence, extremely sexy Zara shirt which gives him Christian-Bale-worthy pecs of steel, and gorgeous bum-hugging jeans faded just right, which make Slinky want to do completely unspeakable things to him. Grrrwf.

But Slinky admits that the prettiest part of the picture is the BIG-ASS box which he's carrying, which, to Slinky's delighted eyes, appears to have Slinky's name written all over it. Face it, sweeties, at the end of the day, size does matter. (Unless it's a very small box. Which happens to be blue. And says 'Tiffany's' on it. Oooohhh baby)

"For me?" I squeak in delight.

The Boy says something appropriately suave and the two (two!) packages for yours truly are placed upstairs in Slinky's messy boudoir.

Post dinner, replete and happy, Slinky bounds upstairs, practically squirming in anticipation.

"Are you going to open your present?" she queries The Boy, all big-eyed innocence. (Not that Slinky isn't interested in The Boy's reaction to her present, which has caused her severe frustration and has caused her to jump up and down on the spot and randomly kick at things over the course of the week preceding Christmas. But it's a BIG box. Maybe the biggest Slinky's ever gotten since the time she was five and got an ice-cream maker, the start of Slinky's incurable and someday-terminal sugar addiction)

"Only if you open yours"

Slinky doesn't really need persuasion. The little package first. Santas who look high on mescaline along with happy reindeer go flying across the room.

Woohoooo!!! Neil Gaiman's "Coraline", the only Gaiman book I haven't read yet. I'm already flying high, and the motherlode hasn't even been touched yet.

More paper goes flying. The back of a big, brown box is revealed. No markings to indicate what it is. For a split second, Slinky wants to prolong the suspense, but curiosity killed the Cat, so the box was turned over, more paper was ripped, and then she saw it. The magic words emblazoned on the front.

ZARA

Big-eyed, I almost know what I'm going to see. It's with almost reverential awe that I open the lid.

There, nestling smugly in the intoxicating, mind-altering scent of new leather and tissue paper, completely aware of their beauty are the tan snakeskin knee-high leather boots with the three-and-a-half-inch wooden stacked stiletto heel and leather tie-ribbon front that I tried on weeks ago but regretfully put back on the shelf because the price tag would have fucked my wallet into submission. Armfuls of Slinky Cat and major kissage later, The Boy is left alone while I proudly wear The Boots down the stairs (never mind that they do not match my boxing shorts and Diesel Dragon T-shirt) to show off my prize to the relatives. I should have known better, as my godmother promptly christened me 'Pussy in Boots' *cackle cackle cackle*. (Mind you, this is when they're NOT on form. My family requires a warning label when they're on the ball)

The Boy is made VERY happy that night.

At The Boy's Friend's party that night (to which I insist on wearing The Boots), I am stuffed even fuller with food (which included some truly incomparable chocolate fudge brownies which practically left Slinky jittering on the stairs). And much to my surprise and embarrassed pleasure, I am given presents by The Friend and his girlfriend, as well as The Friend's family. I'm really touched. The best Christmas present, though, was a disc containing all the photos of the Maldives. All 580+ of them. (I'll get some of them up soon, promise) Browsing through all of them, I'm made nostalgic all over again, and spend the rest of the time in The Friend's house lounging about in a melancholic state of Maldives longing. But it's all good.

I fall asleep in The Boy's arms that night, and figure that even if the Christmas Spirit came late this year, it came with a bang.

And Christmas Day. Wow. Our numbers have been reduced (and good riddance, too!), but for the members of the Group who have survived the PinkTwit debacle, I love you guys. To the ever-fabulous Sisterhood and two Brudders, last night was fabulous. The wine was excellent, the company was stellar, and it feeds my soul to just be with all of you. I am so grateful that all of you were there, doing your thing, being my friends and enriching my life. A toast, I say again, to friendship, and many more years of it too.

And yes, I acknowledge that I'm funny when I'm drunk. But at least I wasn't talking to myself this time.

To Kerms, thank you for the lovely lovely lovely Origins lip gloss. I am such a sucker for little tubes with pretty colors.

To Wen (and Ben by extension since he claims that marriage gives him such right), I REALLY needed that dreamcatcher. I bloody hope this one works. No more freaky scissor-dreams for this Slinky Cat, nuh-uh. And thank you for the gorgeous Kiehls starter kit. I always fall head-over heels for like good things in small packages.

To The Boy, thank you for being there and being funny and being furniture for when I'm drunk and giggly and seemingly incapable of sitting upright. Although I am beginning to think you REALLY don't like your present because once again, you have left it at Wen's house.

To Vern, for always being you, and for John George Maximillian, we are blessed.

To Carl, for grinning and bearing it year after year in our company, congratulations. You are there In Your Own Right.

The party was like something out of Sex and the City, for some reason. We're growing up.

As for other people who deserve a mention:

Raj, for always being a listening ear, for always being there for me even when it was hard for me to go on, for not being afraid to be vulnerable, and for being one of those who I can trust with anything, merry Christmas to you too dear.

Mysterious C, for always cracking me up, for being my vent to talk about the snogability of hot guitarists (hot guitarist, hot guitarists! Yeaaaaahh baby!), the ripping off of random hot stud’s boardshorts, the hotness of your latest bikini, and all the other highly intellectual conversations which are so essential in my life. You're gorgeous and have many Fabulous Fuck-Me Dresses of which I am deeply envious, and I am lucky to know you. Likewise, Jo-baby, you rock the house in a very similar way. Three of us could rule the world.

Cuz, whenever you get back from dreamworld which I'm sure you inhabit now, thank you for everything. Words are not enough to express how glad I am that you are in my life. You have been Hibberdized and shanghaied to Australia but that will not change.

And naturally, my family (who I sincerely hope isn't reading this since I talk about many patently unsuitable topics. I was just kidding, honest), I love you guys.

For anyone who I've unforgivably missed out, my apologies and thank you all for being part of my life, and I hope you had a Merry Christmas too.

The Slinky Cat says enjoy the goodwill because honey, this ain't gonna last long.