Real life is for phonies

My mother always praised me for being a realist. Really? Try reading my blogs, mama. Reality to me is just so passe. Who wants to live in reality when you can live in a world where sugar plum fairies don't have to dance only in your head. My ideal job--event planning. Well, that's what I tell people. My real ideal job? Being Jack the Pumpkin King. I never understood why people gave the Grinch such a hard time, who doesn't want to steal Christmas? So you can swim in eggnog, make it rain gumdrops, have all the gingerbread in the world, park reindeer in your garage and have Santa's workshop in your shed. I definitely am not a realist. Common sense is not my thing. I'm most certain I live a life of a neverending childhood, where fantasy has trickled into reality, where talking bunnies send me on chocolate hunts and I get my spending money from underneath my pillow. When people ask me for the time, I take out my giant watch and stuff it back magically into my tiny interior jacket pocket. When I throw my unbirthday party, we drink tea not wine, you must come in your purple top hat and don't sit too close to the cat if you're no good at riddles. In December it is always snowing, Christmas lights are always glowing and sleigh bells ring to the tune of the carol of the bells. I've been visited by three ghosts, I've taken a walk up a hill to fetch a pail of water and ended up in the gingerbread house of my dreams with Smarties door handles and gummy bear couches. My fairy godmother dressed me for prom. On  March break, I vacationed to the North Pole and on Christmas eve I left out the double sets of my pictures for Santa beside his cookies and milk. I don't  call cabs, I call golden chariots. My mermaid tale was a perfectly suitable substitute for water wings. Hungry? I always have green eggs and ham.

Come into my world with me, whenever you need a break from your own. Come to a land where music is always playing, children are always laughing and nutcrackers are always doing ballet. Come to a place where we get stuck in dragon-guarded towers, not in traffic. Yes, I'm sending you an open invitation to my world--where you can go everywhere and anything goes. Where when I close my eyes, I can live in a chateau in France when I think of Paris, I can feel the sand on my skin when I remember Italy, where I am playing cards on the deck of the beach cottage in Wasaga when I miss my past. Where the whole world is at your doorstep and every other world is only a Polar Express ride away. Where a window of opportunity is quite literally a door from one magic to the next--from the land of all hallows' eve to the kingdom of Old Saint Nick.

No I don't think I'm a realist at all. Why should I be? When everyday can be an adventure instead.