Monday, July 20, 2009

“I’ve destroyed Santa!” she wailed, visibly distraught. The red paint she had intended as a cheerful glow for the porcelain Santa’s face now looked more like he was a sweaty lush.

“No, no, he’s fine. Maybe just tone it down with some white?” He was beyond repair, it was pretty apparent, but I was already reaching for the brush, trying to hold off the inevitable emotional breakdown about to ensue.

“Just forget it! Everything’s ruined! I’ve ruined it!” Fat tears plopped onto her sweater, leaving sad blotches on Rudolph’s woolen face.

I’ve never known what to do in these kinds of situations. Do I hug her? Do I pretend I don’t notice she’s crying? Awkward shoulder pat’s good.

“Look at all these we’ve done though, it’s just one. Come on, don’t worry about it.”

She turned to look, utterly woe-begotten, at the pile of elves rendered dragqueens with too-rosy lips, misshapen reindeer, and angels with droopy eyes that had begun to run down their cheeks, then began to cry harder.

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