Decemberfest?

My annual winter cold -- which lasts from December through April -- has been dogging me for weeks, which has been great news for Manny the obese puggle. Forget the cinnamon chocolate coffee cake he and Leo devoured the other day before my daughter could get her hands on the surprise treat I had purchased for her (the Cannolli Kings strike again!); Manny's favorite delicacy -- second only to freshly worn underpants -- is a dirty tissue. Sure, he'll pluck a few clean ones from the box out of boredom, but being around me when I have a cold is, for him, like having constant access to a freshly baked rack of jelly donuts.

At least Manny has found a reason to see the glass half full in winter; I'm still searching for a bright side with any sort of significance or staying power. Particularly here in the Jewish neck of deep dark upper middle class suburbia, December is cold and cruel. Compounded by the absence of heart warming Christmas light displays and the mass exodus to Cabo that occurs the minute the final school bell rings before break, the frigid air outside assaults you and follows you inside; there's no place to hide. It was small consolation yesterday that I was able to get a good parking spot at Panera so I could run in for soup and a chocolate croissant. I need lights; I need communal body heat.

I watched a commercial on television yesterday (well, I watched about 17,000 commercials yesterday from the crater I'm creating on the couch), but this particular one made me realize how warm the Christmas season can be if you do it the Gentile way. Jingle Bells was playing in the background, fat snowflakes were wafting down onto streets already blanketed with fluffy white drifts, and lights twinkled on the houses as an old fashioned looking trolley meandered slowly through the wintry night. I think I'd be able to find enough warmth in that scene to forego my upcoming trip to Mexico. Okay, maybe that's pushing it, but the whole contrived tableau did have its appeal.

Alas, back to reality; here I am in Jewish deep dark suburbia, where it's easy to get a restaurant reservation or get tickets to a movie but the cold cuts through you like the opposite of a hot knife through butter. Manny has been feasting on so many discarded tissues I fear his butt is about to become a Kleenex dispenser, and my spreading ass has burrowed itself so deeply into the couch I can barely see the television screen over my elevated legs.

As a Jew and, in some ways, a chick, I am genetically incapable of stringing lights around the house to try to warm things up. The best I can do is flip the switch on my whimsical little pink tree, stuff myself with soup, croissants, and lots of chocolate, and snuggle up to fat Manny, who at least has the benefit of doubling as a space heater.

I'm not wasting any time dreaming of sugar plum fairies; just guacamole and margaritas on the beach.