Sit in My Lap and Spill - A Reader Survey for a Dark & Stormy November Night
Hey, it’s that time of year again, those contemplative early winter nights.
I’m curious. Nosy. And even self-reflective.
Wanna hear what I’m thinking?
Just hit the button—it’s a few fun questions, for my eyes only.
Usually most people respond in the next week or so. I read every one with relish.
I’ll let you know the (anonymous) reactions, post-Thanksgiving. Sound good?
I have to say the most compelling “questionnaire” I was ever a part of, was when Good Vibrations, my former workplace of the 80s, asked me if I’d like to play “Santa” for their holiday party.
I said, being terribly conventional, “But I’m a girl!’
The staff laughed, “As if that matters!”
They were right.
Kathy Andrew and her Stormy Leather crew made me a red latex and ermine Santa dress and hat with a matching outfit for my four-year-old diva daughter! Can you imagine our bliss?
The night of the party, I sat in a throne-like wingtip chair, and there was a queue of people lined up to sit on my lap and “Tell Santa what you want.”
Children and large adults plopped hard into my lap, (yes, I could barely move afterward) and I motioned to them to whisper in my ear.
It was really . . . A lot.
I thought people would tell me some amusing toy they wanted, or maybe “whirled peas.” I was ready to joke along and be very warm and jolly.
But it turned out, total strangers told me things far more personal, vulnerable. Heavy family and lover stuff, hopes and fears. Risks and uncertainties galore.
I felt like one of those wind phones where you talk to your ancestors, or a post-Catholic confessional where anything goes, or a witchy oracle.
I found myself replying, almost every time: “I’ll do my best . . . Santa loves you!”
This expression of love— and in the moment, I was Santa— seemed to be a great salve, no matter what impossibility had been proffered.
I look forward to hearing what’s percolating in your mind, and we’ll unpack it all next week!
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