Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls

Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls

  by

  LC Cooper

  Copyright LC Cooper 2010

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  Where to find LC Cooper online

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  Here is the list of my titles, published at many fine retailers:

  Novels:

  Christmess

  Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

  Legacy

  Man Cave

  My Slice of Heaven

  Simmering Consequences

  The Voices of Cellar's Bridge

  Short Stories:

  "Barefoot Homecoming"

  "Dan's Accidental Convertible"

  "Halloween's Perfect Storm"

  "Heart's Lust"

  "One Lousy Wish"

  "There Was a Knock at the Door"

  * * * *

  Should I thank you, you unsung heroes of Christmas? You provide generations of families with the ability to cover up shame and guilt with one smarmy oversized snapshot of time. I acknowledge the contributions these purveyors of film have made on faux haute couture. This is the closest I'll ever come to complimenting the racket of professional portrait photography.

  I can acknowledge the value in taking photographs. What I don't appreciate is being made to feel guilty if I don't want an annual family picture taken by some supposedly professional photographer. Oh sure, I used to go through the motions and eagerly put on my game face, but that was before last year's photo.

  I'm holding it in my lap right this very moment. Not the framed picture. Nope, not this photo – not in my lifetime. Somehow, it keeps reappearing out of the dustiest of our photo albums. You know the ones, those that come out only once a year when the relatives swarm into town for a holiday visit. My mother passes the albums around and our guests pretend to enjoy reminiscing about the events that brought everyone together that particular year. Then, there's the last event – the one we call "Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls."

  This photo stops smiles in mid grin. It's rumored that even Kelley Rippa's nauseating face turned ashen when she saw it. We all still believe Regis showed it to her just to get under her skin.

  Anyway, I procrastinated away most of last Christmas' shopping season. Three days before Christmas, I was in a feverish rush to complete my family's shopping for them. Notice I said, "for them." I wasn't buying gifts to give them. No, I screwed up a few school-year events, and in my frantic attempt to appease my beastie boys, I irrationally promised to do their holiday shopping for them. So, here I was racing around the mall trying to buy my son, Perry, a watch to give his girlfriend, "My Tastes are Too Expensive for You" Tiffany Rae Allen.

  While rounding the corner between yet another pair of Cinnabon and Starbucks shops, I was clotheslined by a chipper little pixie in an outfit too small for a Barbie doll.

  "For Pete's sake, get some clothes on, would ya?" I irritatedly asked Tinkerboobs. Massaging my injured throat, I croaked, "And why'd you knock me down?"

  "If I didn't, our pricing and packages would have!" gleefully yelped the diminutive mouthpiece for "Uncle David's Treasured Treasures."

  I started to tell her how stupid her employer's name was, but who was I kidding? It probably took Itty Bitty Big and Bouncy six weeks to pronounce her employer's name. Who was I to crush her groove? After dragging my thunderous frame over to her comfy couch, she turned on the spotlight and began her sales pitch.

  "Excuse me," I interrupted, "where did the cute little ray of sunshine go that I was just talking to?" I'm not certain how it happened, but sometime between being dropped to the floor, and climbing breathlessly onto the Papasan couch, Cutie Patootie became Helga The Closer. Head spinning from the myriad of package choices tossed at me like a batch of knives in a circus sideshow, I spun the Wheel of Fun and landed on the wedge labeled "Bend Over And Grab Your Ankles."

  Actually, the package was labeled "Polar Dream." The swimsuit model returned, gently placing the most amazing chocolate-chip cookie in my trembling hand. In the other, she nestled a warm mug of piping hot cocoa. It was topped with miniature marshmallows and Christmas sprinkles.

  Oh, the sensations I had from the first bite of warm gooey cookie, washed down with the semi-sweet smooth cocoa – I tingled all over. I was so lost in the moment that I didn't realize I mentioned I couldn't afford the "Polar Dream" package, saying the package LZ9 was more to my tastes and budget.

  It was like a scene from one of those kid movies where the heroine said the wrong thing. The bustling soundtrack immediately cut off and the entire room fell silent. That amazingly awesome cookie was viciously yanked out of my hand. Although I tried to capture the bit of crumbs on my lips and chin, they were brusquely wiped away, leaving only the sterile taste of the alcohol wipe on my tongue. Similarly, the mug of Heaven disappeared, having been replaced with a Dixie cup of tepid water. Though I did my best to wrestle the mug back from Sweet Cheeks, I was no match for her evil twin personality, Helga The Closer.

  "How'd you do that?" I crabbily asked. "One moment, I'm on top of the world, and the next, Hulk is ripping my arm off and beating me on the head with the thing."

  "Well, you did decide on package LZ9. So, you get what you pay for!" Helga condescendingly chided.

  "Yeah, but I could buy package LZ9 and still have enough money left over to purchase Canada and a whole truckload of girl scouts and elves to make me cookies and hot chocolate," I dryly shot back.

  "I will not argue with you, Missus Pooper. You have made your selection…now you must live with your decision," the witch sneered before clacking her claws together as a signal for assistance.

  "The name's 'Cooper,' you twit," I snidely remarked – after she stomped off out of view. Captain NoNeck walked up and roughly clamped his meathook around my frail arm. He dragged me through a maze of cubicles, and stopped outside of #666.

  "The sack of garbage is here to see you, Sir," announced NoNeck.

  I was tossed into a rickety wooden chair that dropped a couple of inches as I settled into it. The heat from the three studio lights caused sweat to bubble up from my pores. A pasty olive-skinned snarl sat behind the marble-topped mahogany desk across from me.

  "Missus Pooper, are you ready to engage in playful banter as we grow a meaningful dialog?" the upturned lip attached to the slug asked.

  Hence began my family's relationship with Todd Everest Portman, the photographer assigned to our case. Oops, did I say "case?" I meant "package." It only became a case later when I sued Uncle David's Treasured Treasures for every dime they and their grandchildren would ever earn.

  "So, you picked Package LZ9, did you?" Todd Everest scoffed, in between shots of his Mocha Latte Foofoo Snuggle Bunny flavored whiff of coffee. "What do you have against me? Did I do anything to you to warrant your selecting such a meager representation of my artistry?" he pouted.

  The only thing that calmed Todd Everest down was when Captain NoNeck came back with a large gol
d chain in his paw. "Another token of gratitude from a satisfied customer, Sir. Shall I place it with the others?" he dutifully asked.

  "Oh, very well, Ivan – if you must," Todd Everest disdainfully said with a dismissing wave of his manicured hand. NoNeck gently lowered the twelve-pound gold serpentine rope over Todd Everest's curly perm and set it lightly atop the 47 other gold necklaces that were entangled in his implanted greasy chest hairs.

  Thankfully, a distracting voice boomed through an overhead speaker: "The Beckwiths have purchased the 'Polar Dream' package and now move into Uncle David's Treasured Treasure Trove of Friends! Please join me in welcoming this wonderful couple into our family's circle as they move to the breakfast buffet." A smattering of applause followed the Beckwiths as they pushed through the throng of those of us who refused to be duped – or fed.

  "Man, the breakfast smells fantastic," I muttered.

  "It could be yours, you know. It's still not too late to change your package from LZ-9 to "Polar Dream" and be a part of our Treasured Treasure Trove of Friends."

  "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?" I said with a giggle.

  Ignoring me, Todd Everest went on auto-pilot as he prattled on about very attractive financing terms for the "Polar Dream" package that he was offering only to little old me and no one else.

  The combination of heady aromas, uplifting muzak, and fantastic deals turned my insides to jelly. Todd Everest hungrily leaned forward in his