Ramblings.

Audrey stuffed each of our stockings with a few small treats, including individual Christmas chapsticks. Each chapstick was a character from the claymation version of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. She gave me The Abominable Snowman chapstick. He is a disturbing shade between gray and purple, and he is hairy. I hate him. And Audrey.

Which is why I sneaked into Audge's room last night as soon as I heard her step out of the shower. I crammed my entire body into her laundry bucket, balancing in a forced arch on both my toes, in a rather uncomfortable squat. My heart was racing, my cheeks were flaming, and my chest felt like it was encased by rubberbands. Unfortunately, Audrey peeked into my room on her way back from the bathroom and became suspicious when she didn't see me inside. So she walked rather casually into her own room, calling out that she knew I was hiding in it. Blast. I gave myself a near-panic-attack for naught. (By the way. My mother is fully aware of Audrey's mischieveous doings, but she APPROVES of them. Because she thinks that they will condition my body to act appropriately when something actually scary happens to me. This logic...baffles me.)

Before all of this laundry-basket-hiding occurred, however, Audrey, Allie, and I were watching the San Franciso Ballet Company's version of The Nutcracker on television last night. (I should mention at this point that all three of us are dancers.) It occurred to me today that we probably sounded as if we were watching a highly-anticipated sporting event. There were screams, clapping, cheering, moans, and sighs of contentment. Audrey, at one point, announced that a particularly good musical cue had made her actually salivate. There was also a lot of voiced hatred toward the very talented male danseurs, especially when one of them would execute something like a quintuple pirouette and then saut de chat into the rafters. And there was a highly realistic circus bear that emerged from Mother Ginger's skirt. He was so realistic-looking that he deserves being mentioned. (And now I have done so.) I also remembered during the viewing that I could perform a one-handed cartwheel, so this required an immediate performance. Except Audrey hid her face behind the couch pillow because she was pretty sure that I was going to kick the floor lamp over. (I didn't.) (But I may have injured a hamstring slightly.)

Also. If I ever get my own dog, I shall name him Quat. Because then I can say, "Come, Quat." And it will sound like the word kumquat.