Meet Ivy. Halloween was yesterday. There are still candy wrappers in the front yard. The bushes are filled with nylon spiderwebs. There are Velcro Marvel costumes in the laundry hamper. But as the rest of the city muddles through its Halloween hangover, Ivy is choosing to spend her day indulging in her true addiction. Christmas decor. Ivy does not just put up a tree and some garland. She indulges like an addict on a bender. Opening one box of decorations results in a visible pupil dilation. Out come the tree ornaments, out come the wreaths. The nativity scene whittled from tree bark elicits a particular thrill. She can’t stop at just one box, though. Here come three boxes of lights – Ivy‘s pulse quickens as 85% of them light up upon testing. What happens next is a blur, but before she knows it, the entire attic has been emptied into the guest room, and there are countless boxes on the floor, opened with their seasonal contents strewn about the room. There is glitter on her forehead and a plastic berry in her hair. She breathes heavily. Ivy‘s adrenaline begins to pump, and she suddenly possesses the superhuman strength to effortlessly move sofas, chairs, armoires and dining tables with little effort to make way for each of her five themed Christmas trees. Bing Crosby croons loudly in the background as Ivy empties lines of fake snow onto themirrored tray… to create an ice-skating rink for her porcelain figurines, of course. Her children ask if they can help her, but stop mid sentence when they see her blazing eyes and wild hair – this unrecognizable version of their mother in a Yuletide manic state. They sense that creating the Christmas magic that helps to shape their childhoods is very adult work. Tomorrow she will sleep most of the day and barely remember what happened here. She will assign the exterior decorating to her husband in a month.
