12/29/04’s illustrious band:

Cookie Cookie Cookie

Brought to you by the letter C and the number 913.

Cookie cookie cookie starts with C. Yep, you guessed it, I'm wearing my new Cookie Monster underwear. Thanks, Sister-san! I offered to show it to my friends at Media HQ, but they declined. In fact, they accused me of creating a hostile work environment. Hey, they should be thankful -- now that I've been through sexual harassment training, I at least know to ask first before I drop trou. But according to the training video, I get one "free" transgression before it really becomes a problem. We've had lengthy discussions about whether this means just one free unwanted hug before a complaint is filed, or one free date invitation, or if it extends to one free french kiss, one free boob grab, etc. The training video, in my opinion, was not specific enough in this regard.

But anyway, to return the focus to where it belongs: my bum. Cookie Monster. My big-girl panties. First of all, the panties fit, and I'm no mere slip of a girl. Whose idea was it to manufacture Sesame Street underwear for adults, and why am I not that wealthy person? It's brilliant marketing: We all grew up with Sesame Street, and the undies are a novel, reasonably discrete (for most of us) way to reconnect with our childhoods. It's great fun knowing I've got CM under my sober business attire.

Second, Cookie Monster was always my main man, for two reasons: cookies, obviously, and he's blue, my favorite color. Even as a child I wasn't really comfortable with his "Me want cookie" grammar, but I was willing to overlook it in context. Cookie's perpetual smile and enthusiasm for dessert always carried the day. He was a kind and simple soul, not smug like Prairie Dawn or fawning like Grover or ratty-looking like Oscar the Grouch. And now he's grinning out of a hot-pink background on my thirtysomething caboose. Life is sweet.

Know what else is sweet? My wee niece Princess Jocelyn. DANG but she's cute! At age 3.5 months, she can do no wrong. Just old enough to smile and coo (especially when Daddy does his funny robot dance, which gets a giggle out of Auntie, too), but not yet old enough to know how to be naughty -- not that she ever would be -- she's the angel atop my tree. It's been a real treat having her and her parents, plus all three of her grandparents, her favorite uncle, and her handsomest cousin, at Sensational Acres this Christmas. Princess J is a serene traveler, a delightful guest, a patient photographic subject, and the best-dressed girl at all the parties.

And there have been plenty of parties for the Princess: Christmas Eve at Uncle's place, Christmas Day at Grandma & Grandpa's, Christmas evening at Sensational Acres, christening in God's house, reception at cousin Shelly's, more gift unwrapping at the Acres, brunch at P&J's, R&R at Grandma & Grandpa's, another sojourn at the Acres, and New Year's invitations at several of the metro's most happening hot spots. Whew! Makes me tired just thinking about it, but Her Highness takes it all in stride.

Anyway. As you can see, this has been one of our best Christmases ever, marred only by the absence of Dad, Jocelyn's Grandpa Bill. He would have enjoyed telling her stories about all the ornaments on the tree. Instead, we'll tell her stories about him and pass the kisses on to the next generation. The halo comes full circle.

Today around the world: December 29 is the king's birthday in Nepal. Not Elvis; His Majesty the King of Nepal. But I did receive Instant Elvis accessories in my stocking -- and Sister-san has the blackmail photos to prove it.

Year-end missive: under construction.

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