Those of you who follow me on Twitter or Facebook know that I have been dealing with a personal trauma this week.
I came home to find my outdoor snowman had been tipped over and decapitated. In lieu of flowers, please send cash or Vodka.
(Sorry-I don’t know how to take screen shots of Tweets.)
After leaving for work at 6am and spending four hours that afternoon with tech support in an effort to make my work computer functional, this is what I came home to.
Ahh! The horror!
Frosty was flat on his back, his little body twisted and torn after being displaced from his holiday perch on my front porch ledge. I immediately got out of my truck, and despite the fact that it was raining and “Wizard of Oz” windy, I attempted a rescue.
As you can see, that did not go well.
After several more feeble attempts in the wind and the rain to put his head and his smile back on, I realized that the only holiday spirit I was feeling at that moment was the quote from A Christmas Story that had popped into my head:
“I have since heard of people under extreme duress speaking in strange tongues. I became conscious that a steady torrent of obscenities and swearing of all kinds was pouring out of me as I screamed.”
At that point, I took him in the house and carefully put him in the basement, and placed a call to my mom—the official decorator and seasonal surgeon—to set up a date for repair.
In the meantime, I grew suspicious of the circumstances surrounding this incident. While the 40 mph winds and rain would seem like the obvious reason, the whole fountain issue this past summer left me hesitant to trust the obvious.
My first thought was that crazy drunk neighbor lady was overdoing it on the holiday “spirits” again. Although she has some decorations on her house, the bright and “festive” red light she put in her front porch lamp led me to believe the feisty old broad might be supplementing her cocktail fund in a slightly shady way.
But as much as I want to blame her, kicking over my snowman would have required her to go out in the rain, prompting this scenario:
Remember? They melt.
So then I considered the squirrels and other small woodland creatures that might have a beef against an illuminated snowman placed in my yard to project an image opposite of the slight Grinchiness that may be felt inside.
But although pushy and mighty with their demands for better seed and a heated waiting area surrounding the pond-turned-squirrel-skating rink, I don’t think they have anything against Frosty.
You should see them drive the little Zamboni.
It was also suggested that Frosty has simply partied a bit too hard (possibly with crazy drunk neighbor lady?) and found himself passed out drunk in the front yard, not unlike a couple boyfriends I had in college. However, I could detect no trace of alcohol on him.
Plus, you know, his mouth fell off.
So I suppose I’m left to believe that it was in fact the wind that toppled Frosty off the ledge and not tipsy neighbors, speed skating squirrels or a case of him trying to beat the blues with some brewskis.
He’s set to undergo surgery this week, and barring warm weather or high winds, a compete and speedy recovery is predicted. In lieu of flowers, he has requested cash or Vodka, both of which can be sent directly to my house.
Well, he didn’t say that—you know, his mouth fell off—but I’m sure that’s what he would want. After all, why do you think he’s such a jolly happy soul?
Merry mystery solved.
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P.S. Look for a post next week showing exactly what Round One of the book money purchased for the animals at the Humane Society of West Michigan. (Sneak peek!) I don’t just donate money, but prefer to donate goods, so you can see just where your money will go—directly to the animals. Hopefully the first shopping spree of many!