They say that mothers know. Somehow, before I even managed to stand up on my four hooves for the first time, Mom just knew.
Maybe that’s what Mom was thinking when she named me Prancer. She sang my little sister lullabies, but when I was little, it was show tunes and watching Judy Garland movies till I dozed off.
It rubbed me the wrong way when I saw all the attention Rudolph got for his nose. Covering it with a black rubber ball? We saw how well that worked! If he’d asked, I would have given him some free advice:
“Hey Sister! Use some foundation and a little concealer. Then make fashion choices to draw attention away from awkward features.”
He didn’t ask, of course, and his secret was out of the bag. Before long he was working that ruby honker for all it was worth. Foggy nights and that big bear Burl Ives made him a star. He had it easy. I’ve had much more of a struggle.
Imagine keeping your own sexuality under wrapping paper. I have zero opportunity to try anything different with my hair, and don’t even get me started on fashion. My macho co-workers think I’m the quiet type. In reality, I’m always trying to think of ways to avoid pronouncing my sibalent esses. I stay away from the plurals, honey.
Change comes slow to the North Pole. Looks like I’m in this closet for another year.
Below are the names / links of my fellow Blogfestivus bloggers. If I find out they’re not sending their readers over here, there’s gonna be hell to pay, let me tell you.
Blogdramedy (Ring Leader, reindeer enthusiast, generally cool chick)