(Three weeks before today, when it was still 82 degrees in our area, I declared that I was going to put up my outside Christmas decorations. I would then follow up with the inside house decorations, ASAP. There was just one problem: I can’t do it by myself, and thus the following conversation ensued between my 71-year-old husband, WW (White and Wonderful), and me when I asked for his help.)
WW: Nope, no can do.
ME: What do you mean, no?!
WW: Too tacky for words. What will the neighbors think?
ME: I don’t give a fuck what the neighbors think.
WW: Hum…well, I do!
ME: Sheesh, White people!
WW: I resent that. It has nothing to do with being White. It has everything to do with what is appropriate. We just finished hiding in a dark house on Halloween so trick-or-treaters wouldn’t think we were home, plus we haven’t even celebrated Thanksgiving yet.
ME: Listen, Husband-Dude—desperate times call for desperate means. Have you not noticed that the world has lost its shit? As far as I’m concerned, we might as well hop right over T-Day because there is no way we can host a Thanksgiving dinner with the guest list that I want without people killing each other between eating the turkey and the pumpkin pie.
“For we need a little Christmas, right this very minute
Candles in the window, carols at the spinet…”
WW: Well, we don’t have a “spinet”, but thanks for the serenade. Jerry Herman would be impressed that you’ve still got the vocal chops at 75 years old to sing one of his songs. But I thought we were just inviting our kids, their kids, and your sister for dinner. Last time I chatted with them, they were still the same race as us, same religion, all Democrats (not a Republican in the bunch, thank God), and hadn’t started any wars. Easy-peasy, T-Day breezy!
ME: Of which I am grateful, but I would love to expand upon that very safe, very homogenous guest list this year. I think the world needs it. In a perfect world I’d love to invite Shoshana and David from Fort Lauderdale, Ahmed and Fatima from Little Palestine in Chicago, the Ukrainian waitress from The Country Club, the Russian handyman on my speed dial, and maybe the MAGA couple down the street (although God only knows how I’d survive those two, but I’m working on it). I mean, I know I’m angry, hurt, and scared to death at how our country—our world—is imploding. Love seems to be at an all-time low. But I’m trying personally to do better, and a good T-Day dinner served with “Mema” love could go a long way.
WW: Really? How so?
ME: It would be in the invite that I’d broadcast on all the social media platforms. I want to cry out to the Jews everywhere and say: “Never again! My home and heart are safe havens for you. As someone who once lived in the now evacuated town of Kiryat Shemona, Israel for several years, and whose youngest child was born in Haifa, Israel, whose history I have studied, almost extensively as my own African-American history—I GET IT!” I want to rock the Palestinian children of Gaza in my arms and nurture them to health while I sing them a lullaby that says, “I SEE YOU! You also have a safe place with me in my heart and home. I hear your cries of wanting a place to belong on this Earth, and as a human I am devastated by your pain.” What kind of God do I worship if my faith isn’t deep enough to connect the humanity in me with hurting human beings over a meal in an atmosphere of thoughtful belonging, good food, love, and healing—where the only side of the struggle I take on this Earth is on the side of humanity? Does my ability to love only extend to those who love me or agree with me? Don’t you ever wish that we were spiritually mature enough that we could actually…
“Reach out and touch
Somebody’s hand
Make this world a better place
If you can…”
WW: All this at Thanksgiving dinner?! Oh, my! We’re going to need a bigger house. I’m not so sure Thanksgiving dinner with warring family members, at the very least, or war in the Middle East at the very worst was what Ashford and Simpson were thinking about when they wrote “Reach Out and Touch Somebody’s Hand”. By the way, who is Shoshana and David and Ahmed and Fatima? Did I meet them last year?
ME: Symbolic couples, Babe. Work with me here!
WW: Anyway, as our First World problems would have it, we have more pressing needs than world-peace fantasy Thanksgiving Day dinners or upsetting the neighborhood harmony by stringing up Christmas lights while it’s still 82 degrees and 48 hours shy of Halloween past. I just discovered that we need a new washer and dryer. Let’s go do something practical and agree to disagree on this subject. I’m never going to agree with you and participate in Thanksgiving eradication by celebrating Christmas in conjunction with Thanksgiving, and Peace in the Middle East is going to take more than eating T-Day dinner at Mema’s house. That just ain’t happenin’!
“No, you’re never gonna get it (ow!)
Never ever gonna get it (no, not this time)”
ME: Oooh, I’m tellin’ En Vogue on you. Can you imagine the clapback you’d get, using their song to deny a “sista” her Christmas wish for world peace?
(It was at this point that WW and I tabled the conversation and scurried down the road to one of those large home improvement retailers to replace a simple washer and dryer—little knowing that we’d both see a local example of why we truly need a little Christmas right this very moment.)
ME: Psst…Honey, did you see the huge sign on the sales guy’s stand?
WW: No…I’m too busy trying to figure out why we’ve had to go to two different stores, wait in line for 45 minutes, and still are no closer to purchasing a washer and dryer than we were two hours ago. Plus, I’m starving! Not interested in errant signs. Just need our new washer and dryer.
ME: The sign says: PLEASE RESPECT OUR EMPLOYEES! Don’t curse at them, don’t yell at them, don’t threaten them, don’t terrorize them, and don’t abuse them. Thank you, The Management.
WW: Does it give the customer an exception to the rule if the employee disappears in thin air with your money while pretending to see if a certain set of washers and dryers exist “in the back”?
ME: Hum? What’s going on in this store? We just came here to replace a broken appliance—not participate in a WWE match. I thought we lived in retirement heaven, albeit mostly Republicans, but a haven, no less. Most of the population here is a bunch of old farts who can barely get out of their own way. How do they have the energy to bitch-slap an appliance salesperson?
WW: Soooo true. Although, it looks like our missing salesman, who I strongly suspect got “raptured,” might be the reason they had to post the sign.
ME: This sign would lead one to believe that 70-and 80-year-olds are throwin’ down in huge home improvement stores in our little town over the fact that they can’t get their latest appliances in the style and color of their dreams before they croak. That’s so weird! Oh, wait a minute… This sign wasn’t posted when we were here before—this is fairly recent. I bet I know what it is: Didn’t Trump just label half the population, “vermin”? Oh my God! This is it! The first outbreak of the Civil War in America is starting in our hometown. Didn’t I tell you that the world has lost its shit?! Come on, Buddy. Let’s get out of here! We’ve got to fight this hateful spirit on the home front. Whether you like it or not, we’re going home to string up some Christmas lights, command Alexa to play our Christmas playlist nonstop, and put a couple of turkeys in the oven to feed the homeless, because if this isn’t a sign of the apocalypse starting in our small town, I don’t know what is!
“What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
No not just for some, but for everyone.”
WW: Amen, Hal David and Burt Bacharach. From your lips to God’s ears!
Eleanor Tomczyk is an author and a satirist who is an award-winning voice-over performer. In 2011, she created the blog, “How the Hell Did I End Up Here” which features mostly satirical posts that have thousands of readers around the world—although she was recently banned in Pakistan (for real!). Tomczyk’s three books were featured in a recent book festival: “Monsters’ Throwdown,” “Fleeing Oz,” and “The Fetus Chronicles—Podcasts to my Miseducated Self.” Currently in her 70s and living life like it is freakin’ golden, she is a consummate storyteller and much sought-after motivational speaker. If you don’t believe me, just ask her!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Whatever causes love to blossom and overflow in your hearts towards your fellow man—let us celebrate in one accord as if there will be no tomorrow if we don’t reach out and “…make this world a better place”!
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how the hell did i end up here? 