Page 60 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
I texted the group chat fully expecting at least two noes, one maybe, and Lizzie pretending she hadn’t seen it until the next day. Instead, I got four yeses, one all-caps, and a gif of a woman lifting a giant glass.
So now we’re here: five women, layered in coats, scarves, and opinions, strolling past twinkling lights and overpriced handmade baubles while the scent of cinnamon, sugar, and scorched bratwurst clings to the air.
“Why does everything smell like sugar and regret?” Fi mutters, wrinkling her nose at a churro stall.
“It’s tradition,” Amelia says, politely declining the mulled wine Lizzie offers her. “This whole month’s basically a countdown to poor decisions.”
“I think I’ve inhaled actual glitter,” Bri says, inspecting her cup suspiciously. “I’m either festive or slowly choking.”
“It’s lovely,” Lizzie says, sounding almost surprised. “Cosy. Like if Etsy exploded.”
A brass band somewhere near the bandstand is attemptingAll I want for Christmasand failing heroically. There’s a snow machine belching out something suspiciously like foam, and two kids are already fighting over the last light-up snowman hat at a nearby stall.
I take a sip of wine and let the noise wash over me. It’s busy, ridiculous, and slightly sticky. But it beats pacing my living room, imagining text messages I absolutely shouldn’t send.
Lizzie leans in, smug. “So... was the purchase worth it?”
I don’t even pretend not to know what she means.
“I’m not reviewing it in a Christmas market.”
“Oh, come on,” Fi says, eyes gleaming. “We all chipped in. This is technically a product debrief.”
“She’s right,” Bri adds. “We funded that orgasm. The least you could do is give us a star rating.”
“I’m not rating it like it’s a hotel stay,” I mutter.
But I can already feel the heat creeping up my neck.
“Oh my God,” Lizzie breathes. “You’re blushing.”
“No I’m not.”
“Is this just about the vibrator?” Fi asks, eyes gleaming. “What happened? Did it malfunction? Did you imprint on it like a duckling?”
“I’m not discussing it here,” I hiss. “There are children. That reindeer might be sentient.”
“Spill,” Bri says, sipping her wine with deeply unearned patience. “We paid for that thing. We deserve updates.”
Amelia leans in. “You’re being suspiciously quiet. Something went wrong, didn’t it?”
I sigh. Loudly. The kind of sigh that’s 70% regret and 30% residual shame. “Fine. It didn’t work.”
Four gasps. One horrified, one intrigued, one already laughing, and one more sounding like a snort.
“Didn’t work?” Lizzie echoes. “It had like... twelve settings.”
“Fourteen,” I say darkly. “And yes. I tried them all. My entire downstairs was vibrating like a spin cycle and still—nothing.”
“That’s tragic,” Bri says. “I mean... mechanically, that’s a success. Spiritually, it’s a failure.”
“Trust me, I know.”
Fi tilts her head. “So, what happened? You just gave up?”
I take a large sip of wine. “I was trying to get there. Had the towel, the mood lighting, everything. Even put something on for ambience.”
“Music?” Amelia asks, hopefully.
