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SuperWoman Prepares for Winter

December 20, 2011

You haven’t heard much from SuperWoman lately, because she’s busy. See, Autumn is her season. She goes and goes and goes, and kind of likes it that way.

But now that winter is coming, SuperWoman can feel it in her bones. (And in her stomach and thighs, unfortunately.) Once red and flaming, she is now like a brown leaf withering in someone’s forgotten garden.

She’s not dead, though. She’s a leaf with eyes who brings blog posts to good boys and girls. (Sit on that one for a minute. A leaf with eyes. If you can’t imagine that, you must not believe in the magic of Christmas.)

Here are some of SuperWoman’s observations at the onset of Winter.

Observation #1: Winter makes you hungry.

Aren’t you hungrier? It’s weird. For a few months there, SuperWoman could get by on peppermint tea and trail mix. But now, even macaroni and cheese won’t do for lunch. By 3 p.m., her stomach is writhing for something else. Something with a lot of trans fats.

Observation #2 (based on Observation #1): We are all animals.

This is true in so many ways, but before she gets all Grinch-like and Hobbesian, SuperWoman just wants to focus on the effect seasons can have on a person. Most humans (most, mind you) have the capacity for rationality and even spirituality. Still, when winter comes, their bodies convince them it’s time to find a cave and sleep for a long, long time. Usually they have jobs or kids, so that’s not always possible. But the fact that the season brings with it a desire to lie on the couch and watch movies alongside tea and cookies means we are not so unlike animals. (Except bears don’t have DVD players. Does PETA know about this?)

Observation #3 (which is not only an observation, but more a hypothetical scenario in which SuperWoman wants you to participate): What if men handled Christmas?

SuperWoman knows what you’re thinking. Men run everything in our culture. Men ¬†with long graying beards who hover in the sky or near the North Pole. Locally, the men who run things are ones with names like Boner that they force us to pronounce “Bay-ner.” (Where is Freud when you need him?)

When SuperWoman looks around, however, she sees women in charge of Christmas.

Take, for example, Christmas cards. Do men give a reindeer’s ass about Christmas cards? Unlikely. Every year, SuperWoman designs a delightful card full of glossy pictures, then hims and haws over how good it looks before she orders it, then puts off buying the stamps, then, finally, tries to go through the process of addressing them before yelling at her husband to DO SOMETHING!

Let me assure you, behind every card addressed in male penmanship, there is an angry woman.

SuperWoman recognizes, in this unnecessarily long, drawn out process, that she is really only writing Christmas cards for other women. Uncles don’t care if one Christmas card is taped to the back of their front door or draped along a string in the foyer. They don’t see the importance of receiving a new picture of someone’s children with no personalized message, especially when all of those pictures are available on Facebook for less than the cost of a stamp.

SuperWoman suspects that if men managed Christmas, they’d be fine with store bought Christmas cookies, with ornaments thrown like confetti into a short, stubby tree, with half-dark lights strung in jagged, un-jolly triangles on the outside of the house.

Oh, and what about gifts? A man will buy his family gifts, certainly, but he won’t take two whole months browsing and thinking and discussing options with his partner before just going ahead and doing it on Christmas Eve. He’ll run through the mall, picking up whatever pretty item dangles itself in his path.

There is no one right way to do these things, which is why SuperWoman’s sometimes-partner-in-crime, SuperMan, is going to take over next year.

(So don’t expect a Christmas card in 2012.)

Observation #4: December is nice. It’s January and February that suck.

SuperWoman doesn’t know how to get around it. January and February really do suck. This, and not Jesus’ birth, is why the holiday was invented. We need a bunch of frilly things to entertain us all as we go stir crazy in our caves.

And it’s also the reason pomegranate martinis were invented. If you need something chock-full of antioxidants and numbing characteristics, gulp, don’t sip the following concoction:

Pomegranate Martini
Serves 2
  • 1 1/2 cups pomegranate juice
  • 2 ounces Absolute Citron vodka or white tequila
  • 1 ounce Cointreau liquor
  • Cup of ice
Shake ingredients. Open mouth wide. Drink heavily as your car becomes buried under ice and the dry skin of your fingertips splits apart.
Dream of tulips.
Recipe adapted from
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{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }

courtney December 20, 2011 at 12:59 pm

I would say that if u have any cards in male handwriting and or any presents that he bought for his own family you should consider yourself a step ahead!


coeliquore December 21, 2011 at 7:00 am

I really liked this post: how true it is!!!!. Thanks
I am going to prepare a pomegranate martini following your recipe. Thanks and happy Xmas!!!!!


Randi December 21, 2011 at 12:00 pm

I like pomegranate martinis.


Elizabeth Mosier December 22, 2011 at 8:33 am

“Let me assure you, behind every card addressed in male penmanship, there is an angry woman.” Yep. Friends might recognize my husband’s fairly illegible penmanship this year…or not!


Sarah December 22, 2011 at 9:28 am

“Let me assure you, behind every card addressed in male penmanship, there is an angry woman.”

This statement is so very true! I’ve done this to my husband more than once…


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