It had never crossed Muriel’s mind that this selfie might attract unwarranted attention. But as she gazed lovingly at herself in the hand-crafted mirror, she noticed Mrs. Claus rushing up behind her, bellowing something about Santa delivering presents where he shouldn’t, as evidenced by the familiar North Pole headgear left incriminatingly on Muriel’s leg.
Muriel decided to play it cool, as she supposed everyone did at the North Pole, not having a choice. “Hello. Are you here about the leaky plumbing?”
Mrs. Claus, also intimately known as Isadora, if you adhere to one of the more obscure Spanish conceptions of Father Christmas. “Well, I suppose that I am, you wretched tramp, as your plumbing has once again befouled my husband.”
Muriel, setting aside the mirror, as she had satisfied her narcissistic quota for the day: “Your husband spends most of his days in a sweaty workshop where lots of short little men bang on things with hammers whilst wearing tights. If that doesn’t say homoerotic, I don’t know what does. If you are truly looking for the wellspring of the befouling, I’d start there.”
Isadora, also known as Helga according to certain German folklore, sighing: “Oh, so you noticed that as well. I’ve often wondered if I should pursue such a line of inquiry any further. But the one time I asked Nicky about it, he grew quite angry and threatened me with a sub-clause in our prenuptial agreement.”
Muriel, baffled: “You agreed to sign a pre-nup with a man who willingly likes to get behind reindeer, if you’ll allow me to be so bold with my imagery?”
Helga, also known as Ice Woman of Faraway Land in Navajo oral history, but that’s as far as we’re going with the cultural comparisons, as it’s becoming increasingly hard to remember that we are still talking about Mrs. Claus: “Oh, I don’t mind the boldness. I wish I had more of it. I’ve had questions for so many years, like why is it that every time Rudolph’s nose lights up, my husband claims to have a headache later that night and we don’t get to play What Can I Do with This Icepick, Fair Maiden.”
Muriel: “That is entirely too much information for me to process at this moment.”
Mrs. Claus: “I suppose it might be, as my therapist, Mr. Heath Miser, also said the same. And I suppose I should leave you to your vanity. But do you mind if I ask one more question?”
Muriel: “Well, since my obvious disdain for you being in my house hasn’t stopped your blithering yet, I fail to see how you can be restrained. Proceed.”
Mrs. Claus: “Why are you naked? We can practically see your jingle bells. Are you sure my husband hasn’t been here? Because he certainly enjoys navigating snowy peaks. Or at least he did before those men in tights showed up and the livestock started having shiny noses.”
Muriel: “I can completely assure you that I haven’t slept with your husband. At least not during the time-frame of this blog post.”
Mrs. Claus: “Oh. Okay. Well, I suppose I should get back to the Pole and bake another batch of cookies. Which I do all day, every day. Because that’s the only checkmark in my skill set. My life is a meaningless blur of sugar and mixing bowls and nobody ever wanting to hide the ice pick. I’m really lonely. Can we be friends on Facebook?”
Muriel, scribbling something on a bit of paper: “Strong No on that. But you do seem to be a decent person, despite what your… despite what somebody said. Here. Go to this website, sign up, and move on with your life.”
Mrs. Claus: “Website? I don’t know. Doesn’t that still involve cookies?”
Muriel: “Trust me. It’s very empowering, you’ll learn to love your jingle bells, and none of the men are very short, if you get my drift.”
Mrs. Claus: “Hmm. Well, then. I suppose it’s worth a try. I guess I’ll be going now. Have a good evening.”
Muriel, smirking: “I already did.”
Mrs. Claus: “What was that?”
Muriel: “Nothing.”
The door closed.
Nicky, from under the bed: “Is the coast clear?”
Muriel: “Yes. But you’re not. What’s this I’ve been hearing about you and the reindeer?”
Previously published in “Crusty Pie” and “Bonnywood Manor”. No changes made for this post, as I’m technically supposed to be wrapping presents rights now, so I’m doing this on the down-low whilst Partner has slipped away for a bit. Shhh, don’t tell…
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
We North Pole dwellers are definitely cool, in many ways. 🙂
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If you’re an example, I completely agree… 😉
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Muriel is ever-so helpful.
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That’s what she’d like you to believe, anyway… 😉
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Muriel’s allegedly ‘snow capped peaks’ barely qualify. But. I’ve noticed that women who like that sort of dress (lavaliere (SP??) cut clear to their lower um nether um…dang. Regions below the belt. There we go) rarely have globes of wonder, because those of us with globes know that there isn’t enough double sided sticky tape in the whole world to keep said globes in place in such evening wear. Something is always a peepin’. And not usually in a good way. Like during New Year’s eve singing events with thousand and millions of folks witnessing such wardrobe malfunctions. Um. Of course it’s never happened to me personally. LDS folk teach their females to keep their globes covered in enough cloth to choke a moose. Sturdy undergarments, and turtlenecks and high necked button up blouses. Amazing really that the LDS are the second most prolific religious group vis a vis children. I guess the heart wants what the heart wants. Now what’s this highly suspicious rumor going around about Rudolph and the girls (Reindeer with big racks are female…and maybe that’s a lie. I mean who is going up to a mega-ton beast with pointy things on it’s head and a probably really bad attitude because they were tagged to haul some fat ass around the world in one night and check the goodies? Braver and stupider soul than I for sure! And to all a good night…..!
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Well, now. You have once again trumped my mildly-entertaining little ditty with a far superior stream-of-consciousness soliloquy. I’m not really sure how I can offer a worthy counterpoint, but I’ll give it a run.
I do know a thing or two about exuberant globes, as both my mother and the oldest of my sisters were “gifted” with planetary twins. (I’m sure neither of them would be impressed with this sharing of detail, but life is just messy sometimes.) Somewhere in the archives is a story concerning the time when I nearly died after tripping over one of my mother’s bear-trap bras that she had carelessly tossed on the floor in a moment of negligence. I’ll see if I can find it.
If LDS is the second most prolific religious group when it comes to the rapid-fire delivery of urchins, who is the first?
And finally, the reindeer thing. I really feel that they need to form a union, as they are clearly being exploited by the annoying man in charge. Oh wait, I may have accidentally started talking about Trump…
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To my knowledge (which, as stated may be false) the Catholics still win the field in prolific ‘breeding’ activities. That church still embraces wine, which may explain the slight edge. … Um. Hope your Christmas Day was full of cheer, good will and lots of tasteful prezzies. And the bra story? I’ll await eagerly to read it! My mother was one of those women who had um, extra rings on her planets. I’m a C cup (yeah oversharing again..oh well) but next to Ma? I felt almost flat chested.
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Personally, I loved the cultural comparison and fully expected you to expand on them further, perhaps including the Druids and ancient Babylonians. But that’s okay. I’ll get over it.
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I truly did want to continue the trend, but I feared losing the audience as I meandered from one arcane point to another. Then again, that’s a risk I take every day, so I suppose I should be over it by now…
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Merry Christmas Brian 🎄🎁
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The same to you!
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Merry Christmas Lageose, I´m past inperfect….come one bro! How many times are you going to put “Imperfect”
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I’m going to keep saying “imperfect” until somebody snaps. Which will probably be me. In about 20 minutes… 😉
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This has the makings (juvenile giggle) of a movie, perhaps soft-core. Muriel’s Bedding?
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I’m on it, and I should have a screenplay ready by New Year’s…
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