Meet Mrs. Claws. You’re much more acquainted with her husband, of course, with his miraculous trip to each child on earth every Christmas. His distribution of that perfect gift that was exactly what was requested - the delight contained in the stockings Christmas morning. Oh, isn’t he exalted! But what you may not know is that Mrs. Claws is the real power behind the man. Guess who spends all year caring for the elves? She arranged meals, ensures that bunks are kept tidy, tends to illnesses, oversees workroom cleanup efforts. Who do you think keeps tabs on naughty and nice behavior? Who do you think maintains the wish lists? Women are big on lists. Fat, bearded, jolly men…not so much. She’s so good at noting the casual mention of a wanted toy in June, sure to produce it come December. Each year, throughout the year, she scurries around keeping the entire North Pole crew on task, cleaning up mug after mug after mug of Santa’s cocoa. Pair after pair of his red thermal underwear just tossed haphazardly on the floor. Sometimes she longs for their college days when he was just Nick, the good time, slightly chubby linebacker type who could chug a beer in 30 seconds. Forty years later and that “ho ho ho” chuckle is on her nerves. But, she has an important role to play, keeping the ship tight. There are so many toys to be made and elves to be managed. She works diligently and, for her efforts, watches her husband receive all the glory. But she loves him, and is proud of what they’ve built together. And she’s excited for the Range Rover that she has the elves working on that will be Santa’s gift to her this Christmas. Her favorite song is “Santa Baby” of course. TAKE HER HOME!
This is the new Amy. This Amy would never have a gross refrigerator. She's not that kind of person. She's clean, organized and fresh. She feels sorry for the people with dirty fridge shelves and expired chicken stock boxes. She can't imagine having a 2 year old jar of pepperoncini peppers with mold on the inside of the lid. That's no way to live and Amy is glad she's the right kind of person. Yesterday Amy had two bags of clothes designated for Goodwill in her dining room corner. They'd been there for 2.5 months, eventually becoming invisible.
She slithers her way in and out of friend groups, wreaking havoc anywhere she can. She told you last week how much she admires you for not caring what you look like – she “just doesn’t feel right about leaving the house“ if she’s not completely put together.