She’s tired of being sweet. Of living in a sweet house with a sweet family who only stay sweet because of her. So she builds herself a house of steel. Collects power tools and grows muscles. Her family complain she’s sour nowadays. Left alone, she eats gingerbread. And she smiles.
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Every Christmas, Evelyn dreads leftovers, loneliness and the empty bank account. This year, she's using stuffing for loft insulation, dried-up turkey legs for rethatching the roof, cranberry jelly for rouge, making sheaths of smoked salmon into knickers and shoving pigs in blankets into her ears. Who needs a partner anyway?
Gaudy, they called her. Too many lights, too many decorations, too tacky, too cluttered. The laughing stock of the neighborhood, an affront to its elegant facades and expensive landscaping. But she can't help herself. What if, in the blackness where her Christmas spirit used to shout, Santa passed her by?
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