A Christmas Story of Triumph
O and I finally put up our tree last week after we fired up the crane in the garage. Oh humble Christmas tree, several stories high, with lovely beige(?!)-wrapped gifts underneath, except, oh? What's that? Oh my, a little something something from Santa?!
GAAAAA!!!! Just what I wanted! Figure skates! My evil rival, Miz Bagg, stole my last pair four years ago in the middle of the Milky Way Figure Skating Championships, so I was forced to compete without them. I still won of course. No one does a Besti squat or Biellmann spin better than me, on ice, shaken, not stirred. Give me a couple of bottles, not of milk, and I'll give you an eyeful of swizzle and twizzle too. (real skating terms)
As for the skates, I had to shake my head at these new high-tech wonders. The blades list all the added vitamins and minerals, and include a calorie count which fluctuates depending on whether or not you wear them with milk. That's a bit much, don't you think? Milk?! Cocoa, yeah, I could understand, or coffee even. And let's not forget that cold weather burns calories 3.8 times faster than warm weather. It's an unproven fact. All too confusing.
Inside was tucked a little note from the Intergalactic Figure Skating Championships with an urgent invitation to their meet yesterday in Vancouver. Why not?, I thought. Having eliminated all my former competition, I would be the only entrant.
All the usual judges were there, some I knew intimately having schlepped with them during past games. Mars, hot-headed and annoying, Venus, constantly sobbing and fainting, Pluto, way out there, reminds me of a politician, and of course Uranus, working overtime, always bending over. The only non-Milky Way was Planet X, a cool artist creature in a silver lamé onesie.
There was no ice so I skated on the waters of Burrard Inlet, such is my talent. The move above is a Mel original. And so is the one below. And I threw in some sow-cows. When I was done my routine, an Orca whale gave me a lift back to shore. While daintily gripping its dorsal fin, I reclined like a mermaid in readiness for the media waiting on the pier.
I think my solo program went really well. Especially since I was the only competitor. But it was time to move to pairs. My partner, Chucky, was a bit wooden and couldn't keep his mouth shut. At least he was dressed very on trend, had silver hair, and sported a long beard thingy.
But we shared a special energy. (Actually, he bit me after this shot. I slapped him with my flowers.)
And at the end of my program, I anxiously awaited news of my scores. I'm glad I had white duct tape to keep my laces tied!!
And there I am at the podium. A perfect score - AGAIN. My blades got a bit mangled, but that's what happens when you're really, really good.
Drinks are on the house! Cheers everyone.
A flubbed Lutz is called a Flutz (true). A klutz is just a klutz (true). And I never schlepped with the judges. I didn't have to - schtellar talent schpeaks for itschelf. Oof.
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About the coat, early '60s faux fur, ultra warm, swing cut, by Robert Meshekoff. I always want to figure skate when I wear it. Champagne white, not as yellow or as white as some of those photos.
This post includes bits of revised content from an earlier post. The photo session with the Christmas trees was outside a very popular downtown eatery, Glowbal. I had to navigate around the trendy crowds going in and out, not easily done in skates which require delicate shuffling action no matter how high-tech they are. I'm thankful that the management didn't shoo me away. Clearly they could see I was a pro athlete.
I'm linking this skating adventure up to Catherine's #iwillwearwhatilike at Not Dressed as Lamb.
I hope you all get a break from outside annoyances during the holidays. See you soon. xo
Have you got any clothes that make you want to figure skate?! Pole vault? Do long jump? Shot put?
