Today I fell apart again. I didn’t even mean to. There I was, minding my own business, when my arm popped off like a Barbie doll limb. Did not see that coming. Arms are hard to reattach, so I decided that I might as well take off the other one so I wouldn’t feel all lopsided on the way home. I stuck them in my backpack and had a very polite gentleman-type guy put it on my shoulders. I don’t know if his eyes were almost bigger than his face because he was surprised or because his eyes were just made that way. Who am I to judge?
I made my way home so I could attach my arms with the arm reattaching machine that came in my standard first aid kit. But when I arrived at my messy dorm, I tripped over fifteen empty boxes of chocolate orange sticks that happened to be stacked on my floor and hit my head on my third basket of dirty laundry. I must have hit it pretty hard because when I stood up again, it was dark outside, and when I went out to the hall, I found it deserted because everyone had already gone home for Christmas break. Using mostly my right foot, I checked my phone for texts. I had a record breaking five, and they were all from my sister. I only checked one, and it said, “Y r u skppng Christmas, u lame sauce spit monkey! Oh well I’ll just open your presents 4 u. l8r, h8r!”
Feeling slightly put out, I took down my first aid kit from its shelf by jumping for it and snagging it with my teeth like some kind of trained seal or spit monkey. My arms had grown a bit moldy from sitting in my backpack for so long, but I reattached them without too much difficulty. With my arms reattached, I was ready to have my own Christmas. I carved a little Christmas tree out of some string cheese I found lying around and I sang some old carols, and then some new ones that I made up on the spot. They were beautiful.
I gave myself some presents I scavenged from my room, including a box of stale crackers and my roommate’s baseball hat. I eagerly put it on and looked at myself in the mirror. I was gorgeous, of course, except for a lightning-shaped bump on my forehead. I decided to trace the bump with eyeliner so it would be more noticeable. The bump would be my good luck charm. It would help me do magic and fly and talk to animals. Excited with the abilities I knew I must have now, I grabbed a broomstick and jumped out the window so I could soar into the starry night like a bird. I think my broom was defective, though, because I sort of flew more like an anvil than a bird. Luckily, the dumpster under my window was open and I landed safely in a mushy concoction of banana peels and mystery goo. But my arms popped off again.
After hoisting myself out of the dumpster, I picked up my arms with my teeth and dragged them to my dorm like a Chihuahua dragging a newspaper. I reattached my arms, watched Muppet Christmas Carol, and went to bed humming to myself.
Overall, I think my Christmas was pretty good. I’ll have to make it even better next year by painting my string cheese tree with my green nail polish, and maybe if I’m good I’ll give myself my roommate’s beanbag chair. I can’t wait!