Certain holiday traditions bring us great joy. Others, unimaginable terror.
Wreaths, for instance.
The mere sight of one can send chills down our spine and trigger uncontrollable crying jags. It all stems back to fifth grade when we sold nativity scene candle sets door-to-door at Christmastime to fund our Mom’s insatiable Quaalude and Sanka habits.
At our final house of the season, our fear of circular door decor was born. We had only one nativity scene left, but it was missing a shepherd, one camel was broken in half and a manufacturing snafu found the wick on Baby Jesus in the wrong position, making for an awkward flame coming from his nether regions once lit.
Hoping to sell everything at a discount so we could get home in time for our Christmas Eve dinner of porridge and pickles, we hurried up the sidewalk to Old Man Merriwether’s. Little did we know that the former mafia informant was extremely paranoid of solicitors, whether bearing Avon, vacuum cleaners or Virgin Marys made of wax.
No sooner had we knocked on the door than the insanely bright porch light snapped on while pepper spray spewed from the poinsettia affixed to his holiday wreath. Temporarily blinded, we fled the scene and stumbled home, dropping our money bag somewhere along the way.
Mother would be Quaaludeless again that Christmas. And our lives would never be the same.
So this Thursday, under the orders of the Gay List Daily staff psychiatrist, we are attending Deck the Doors DIFFA/Dallas Wreath Event. The presence of free-flowing cocktails and delicious hors d’oeuvres will force us to face our wreathaphobia with merriment.
Just fair warning: Even though the auction of designer wreaths is technically silent, we might still be found whimpering in the corner.
Deck the Doors
DIFFA/Dallas Wreath 2012
Thursday, November 29, 6:30 – 9:30 p.m.
$50 per person, benefiting DIFFA/Dallas
(214) 748-8580
Timothy Oulton
4500 North Central Expressway, Dallas
Complimentary Valet Parking
www.facebook.com/DIFFADallasTX
Tickets online at deckthedoors.eventbrite.com.
