The stockings were hung by the chimney with care

That, in the picture up there, is my Christmas stocking for this year.

I don’t have a chimney, so it’s dangling from my apartment’s heater.  That would normally be an enormous fire hazard, but in the case of my apartment it’s really just par for the course.  Besides, I hardly ever turn the heat on, because it just goes straight up and heats the apartment above mine.  The last thing I want to do is lower his heating bill and give him even more electricity with which to power the electric keyboard that he thinks he can play but he can’t.

Anyway, isn’t the stocking pretty?  It’s got my name on it in poofy letters, and is decorated with sparkly glue.

I made it last night, and then had to bring it with me on public transit for two hours while I got home.

Now, the interesting thing about poofy ink and sparkly glue is that they don’t dry immediately.  They actually don’t dry any time soon at all.  This is not the kind of glue that forces you to frantically attach the intended-to-be-stuck-together items to each other the moment you lay the glue.  You could, in fact, put down your glue, go eat a sandwich, have a nap, watch a little TV, and then come back to find the glue still perfectly wet, although perhaps a little tacky.

This left me with the intriguing challenge of how to bring a wet, glue-covered stocking home on a bus, a rapid-transit train, and then another bus.  I couldn’t just put it in my pocket, because the glue would ensure that it never came out again.  I couldn’t put it in any sort of bag for the same reason.

So, I just had to hold on to it, carefully.

This was interesting for two reasons.  First, I was basically holding a glue-soaked rag by the little dry corner, on shaky, lurchy public transportation.  That’s a little like trying to hold on to the corner of a plate of pie while jumping on a trampoline.   Except that, unlike my stocking, a pie would at least fall off anyone on whom I happened to drop it; my glue-covered stocking, however, would probably be theirs for good.

Second, people look at you funny when you gingerly cradle a bright red Christmas stocking in your lap.  I got a number of glances that had overtones of, “Oh, look how much that mentally-retarded fellow likes his Christmas stocking.  How cute!”  Such moments do little to cement my reputation as a dangerous bad-ass.

But, for all the effort, it’s hard to deny the quality of the end result.  That is a nice Christmas stocking.

I encourage everyone to go make a Christmas stocking.  They’re great fun, and it’s damned-near impossible not to feel some holiday cheer when you own a bright-red sparkly Christmas sock.

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