Off With Her Head

Yay! Jilly ordered new christmas tree ornaments this morning.
Among other treasures, she scored the perfect tree topper for a particularly finicky friend of ours. It’s called the “Obsessive Compulsive Action figure.” The official product description follows.

-This 5-1/4" tall, hard vinyl Obsessive Compulsive Action Figure is worried about whether or not you washed your hands after you used the bathroom. Just in case, he's sure you won't mind if he wears his gloves and surgical mask when he shakes your hand. Or, even better, maybe you could just bump elbows with him. As soon as he finishes counting those ceiling tiles, he can get started on alphabetizing the canned foods. Mini surgical mask included. Packaged with a sanitary, hypoallergenic towelette to clean the figure before you touch it. Perfect!

I don’t usually get this exited about holiday trinkets, but I predict our Yoda tree topper is going to have some serious competition this year for the rank of “most highly prized tree-bauble.”

Novelty object number one is a Marie Antoinette action figure with ejector head. Jilly and I discussed the possibility that Marie might displace Yoda in the top position but I’m afraid her most desirable attribute, the ejectable head, would be out of reach and effectively non-functional. What good is Marie Antoinette if you can’t lop off her head when company comes calling, no good at all I say. She’ll be mounted at the halfway point for easy access.

Trinket number two is the “Crazy Cat Lady.” Other than being just plain funny (to both of us), this one has bitter/sweet significance for Jilly and me. I happen to be outrageously allergic to cats. When I first met Jilly, she had four of the little furry critters. The word “little” might be misleading, as two of the more corpulent kitties, weighed together, would have easily topped forty pounds. All told, there was approximately sixty-five pounds of kitty cat keeping Jilly company at any given time. The cat situation in and of itself was neither good nor bad, but because of my allergies, it was an issue that very nearly snuffed the smoldering embers of sweet, sweet love.

The first time I visited Jilly at her house, I paused in the entry hall for a short period in order to gauge my reaction. My symptoms vary from cat to cat; sometimes it’s no big deal. The place was clean, no drifts of cat hair in the corners and nary a hairball in sight, so far so good. It was at least a couple of minutes before my eyeballs began to leak. Not bad, I thought, so I ventured deeper into the kitty cat kingdom, eventually stopping at the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

It was at this most critical of moments that things began to get out of hand. My body started digesting itself. Cell walls ruptured and internal organs proceeded to liquefy. I feared it was too late to save my spleen but I still had a chance to salvage the liver. With tunnel vision closing in, I moved instinctively towards the light. After allowing gravity to schlep my corpus defunctus the final few feet to salvation, I stood in Jilly’s back yard and acknowledged to myself that the issue was settled, we could never be together. I had long since resolved that I would never be the cause of a person having to choose between their beloved animals and me. We fell in love anyway. Jilly broached the subject of finding homes for her pets and the rest is history. I’ve done my best since then to never make her to regret that choice.

Our fire retardant polypropylene facsimile of a Douglas Fir tree is going to be looking mighty stylish this year.