Jingle Jingle

A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."~ Garrison Keillor (sorry...couldn't find any corduroy quotes)

I have a couple of Calvin Klein corduroy jeans I purchased last year. I bought them at different places and different times. I always check out the rear view when I buy anything, along with the side views. I distinctly remember thinking, "These look fabulous!" However, this year when I put them on, they're baggy. I don't know if this is just in the nature of corduroy jeans or Calvin makes "Incredible Bagifying Jeans" as some kind of cruel joke. I have not lost inches. Well, maybe I've lost half an inch or something, but you can't tell when I wear regular denim jeans. I have some other corduroy jeans made by different manufacturers that have gone to Baggy Land, too. I'm not looking for tight. I'm just looking for some semblance of my real shape to show up. I know there are much more important things to think about. I just can't help it.

Becoming middle-aged has a lot of benefits. Several years ago ('cause I've been middle-aged for a while now), I decided to throw fashion caution to the winds and celebrate Christmas on my person. I have Christmas socks. I have Christmas sweaters, both cardigan and pullover. I have Christmas shirts. I have Christmas jewelry. I'm brazen.

This year, I've decided to test my co-workers' Christmas spirit by wearing jewelry that jingles. I've been wearing a jingle bracelet, necklace and, yes, jingle earrings for the past week or so. As I saunter through the office, I casually (and pretty constantly) shake my wrist ever so gently. Jingle jingle. Jingle jingle. That's bound to irritate somebody, right? No one has gone Scrooge on me yet, though.

If I don't get any response soon, I'll have to go looking for some Christmas socks with jingle bells. I know I've seen them somewhere. I have nothing better to do with my time than search for them if I can't rattle somebody's chain any other way. Maybe they're just biting their tongues and, inside, their brains are about to explode, but that's not really good enough for me. I would have no problem whatsoever surreptitiously shaking my foot periodically as I go from place to place. Don't make me go that far, people.

I'm going to have to institute "Jingle Bell Watch" to count the number of days it takes for somebody to go crazy. We're now on day 7.