HOW THE KITTY STOLE SKIPSMAS
As a Jew, I’ve never been particularly excited for Christmas morning. I never got to wake up with hundreds of presents under the Christmas tree, never had a Christmas celebration to call my own. Santa envy!
And so this year, I was kind of excited that I had a reason to get excited in a Christmassy way.
SantaCon was coming to town, and Skipping Club had plans to tear right through it! Dressed as toys.. the skipping presents/presence.
But the morning of SKIPSMAS arrived, and shit. my left eye was the size of a fucking Christmas ornament. There was something in it. It was painful. It felt like glitter – sharp and pointy. It had to be glitter. Glitter brows have their hazards. Ouch!! Ack!
What do you call a girl with glitter in her eye? A GLAMBULANCE!!!
But, no, it was not glitter. Michelle Joni pretended it was glitter because it sounds all fun and four-year-oldy, but Kitty knew better. Kitty recognized this feeling. Kitty knows that anything in your eye feels like a pointy painful piece of glitter. Kitty knows that eyes don’t puff up like that unless they are trying to purge something that your body SERIOUSLY can. not.
Kitty knew it was… a piece of a cat dander.
Riley slept on my face.
I, horrifically allergic to cats all my life, despite my undercover cat lady ways… Until one day I turned into Kitty, embodying my arch nemesis alter ego, and with it, determination to conquer my cat allergies! And the only way conquer your arch nemesis without killing anybody? Become one with it.
And, it’s been completely working!!!!
Riley has been living with us on and off for 5 months now, and I’ve gone from itchy-throat sneezing on Zyrtec to wrapping him around my neck as a boa without a drop of antihistamine. Riley and I are besties.
I take him for rides in his new Kittywalk. I snuggle with him in my bed all the time, only with the occasional sneeze.
WHAT WAS GOING ON!!?!? This eye thing? On Skipsmas morning??? I was devastated. And more than that, completely indecisive as to whether or not I would cancel Skipsmas. I commiserated via text with a few of my core skippers. I hate canceling skips! I don’t want to skip Skipsmas! But people would understand. But I want to skip with Santas and be jolly as fuck! No, I want to close my eyes sleep for 38 hours. UGH do I really have figure out how to say “Skipsmas is canceled” in a nice way on like 14 different social media channels right now? I’d rather dress like Barbie as planned. But I can’t find the eye patch Sadie gave me….. (sends out urgent, bitchy text to friend who last wore eye patch…) Wait, why is the entire left side of my face wobbly?
Merry Skipsmas to me.
Surely this was another social media hex, thanks to the selfie I took that night with Riley and the super perfect awesome cheeky caption I intended to post with it: “Who of my friends is a scientist who wants to research a real live human specimen who conquered their cat allergy by turning into a Kitty at Burning Man!!?? (insert kitty emoji here)”
I canceled the skip.
And I crawled back into my cat infested bed, disgruntled, eye wrapped in dripping wet washcloths, and slept for the rest of the afternoon.
A few hours later when I began to wake, I noticed right away I felt better.
And when I turned over, BOOM. Riley was staring me in the face.
Okay, so…. Kitty’s role in my life is to observe reality carefully and be honest with myself. To honor myself and my deepest truths. And in that moment hit me – I hadn’t been doing any of that.
Kitty knew the truth: I did not want to go to SantaCon. AT ALL!!!
I mean, PLEASE. I’m a New Yorker. I’ve been trampled by Santas in SantaCons past. I’ve fallen victim to neighborhood pee puddles thanks to drunken frat boys in fat suits. I’ve witnessed far too many unoriginal sexy elf getups to actually want to skip in a swarm of them!
And to make matters worse – all the communications I received from the North Pole – to whom I donated $11 to, to whose tweets I subscribed VIA TEXT as suggested, were totally Negative St. Nick.
Like, what is up with that? Where’s all that jolly, merry, radical Christmas joy that I signed up for??! Why would I want my joyful, soulful club to be part of something that’s been sending me tweets all week about how not to ruin it? Oh I’m sorry, I was just going to come and paint your merry ass mess of a midtown barcrawl with joy, love and positivity! And you need 18 reminders to not barf on my shoes? Are y’all that bad??
Actually, as it turns out, yes. The headlines have rolled in:
Some Santa in Santa Francisco robbed a bank... ummm… cute?
And this, privilege wearing a beer-soaked Santa hat… don’t even get me started.
I love that cat so much.
I LOVE KITTY!
Even when Michelle Joni may not be keenly observing her instincts and honoring her desires, at least somebody is. That cat zapped me at the EXACT moment necessary to make me look and feel just shitty enough that I could not possibly fathom getting dressed as Barbie and going skipping. Kitty played a trick on me… and saved me from entering into this maligned war zone of North Polian lunatics!
Or… who knows. Maybe it was the glitter.
BUT WAIT! So… what is to become of Skipsmas?
Click the SKIPPING CHRISTMAS STAR to find out Kitty’s grand plan!