the sinatra christmas album

Day Fifty-One

-A young girl took her mother’s basket and returned it to the proper place rather than leaving it on the ground. She displayed twice the moral strength of the average guest while possessing only one third the height.

-I rang up a very polite man in his early twenties with purchases I would not have expected: Elvis and Sinatra Christmas albums, a stuffed animal, chocolates, and a Disney wall hanging. I can only describe these items as soft and I admire a man who seeks them out.

-A woman left my lane, angered at being told the price for a sale was different than what she thought, despite having the price adjusted for her anyway. She immediately made a beeline to the display, eager to prove me wrong and show me to be a chump. I watched as she reached the sign, read it several times, dropped her head, and swiftly left the store without making eye contact. Tonight, I am victorious. 

-During shifts such as today, where I have to work in the twilight hours of sunset, I find myself struggling to decide whether the proper farewell is to wish a good day or a good night. Thankfully my subconscious has taken the initiative on this front, as I have accidentally slipped into the habit of merging the two, and sending the guests off with a “have a good ndai,” and quickly moving on before they can question my sanity as much as I already do.

-A young boy stood up in his cart and greeted the store, shouting, “Hello, everyone, my name is Gingerbread.” I speak on behalf of everyone at the store when I say hello, Gingerbread, we wish you the best in this unending vortex of confusion that we here call planet Earth.

-I went to announce a guest’s total. It was $69.69. My life has all been leading up to this moment. Eagerly, I turned to the guest, excited to share this momentous occasion, before being reminded of the fact that I was assisting a middle-aged woman with the humor of a woman from the Middle Ages. The sheer wonder of this moment was lost on her, but my life will now be forever changed for the better.

-A man remarked offhandedly that, “This store is not very populated. Very few people are here.” I questioned his word choice, as “populated” implies people taking up residency, and no one lived in the store. It then dawned on me that I could not prove this and that this man seemed to be very sure of what he was saying. Naturally, I laughed at his comment and was very kind to the man, in order to ensure that those watching from the walls know that I am polite at all times.

-A woman got up to the register before deciding that she did not want the set of nativity figurines she had in hand. The remainder of this story is a personal message. Jesus, I know you read these, and I want the record to show that it was not my fault, and I did not choose to put you away in the reshop bin. If it helps, I am prepared to forward on the names of those who did. Do not forget how cooperative I have been when you seek revenge. 


I love Christmas. I didn’t grow up in a religious family, but we were definitely a family that enjoyed ritual and one of our great rituals was Christmas. It had everything to do with when we got the tree, where we got the tree and what kind of tree it was. We’d go out into the garage and get all of the decorations - decorations that had been passed down - and put them up. We’d listen to certain Christmas albums - Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee. All that kind of stuff that makes a family. It’s my favourite part of the year.

anonymous asked:

imagine steve knitting all his christmas presents for everyone!

Other Winter Prompt Week posts: x


It’s not that Steve can’t afford to buy everyone gifts. It’s just that he’s always loved receiving handmade gifts, so he figures everyone else will probably appreciate it just as much.

Thor gets a dark red bag for Mjolnir. Natasha gets a black cashmere scarf and matching mittens, because Steve’s pretty sure he’s never seen her in any color but black. Bruce gets a beanie that looks more hipster than Steve had intended, but with Bruce’s glasses, it works. Sam spends his day flying his knitted stuffed falcon around, making bird calls. Tony’s red-and-gold balaclava turns out to be way more terrifying than it should be, especially because he refuses to take it off for days.

For Clint he makes a bow cozy, which takes him all of two hours, because it’s just a long tube with buttons along it. Bucky says, “No way is his dick that long,” but Steve doesn’t rise to it; after all, he tells Bucky, if it was a penis cozy, it would be closed on one end.

“Anyway,” says Bucky as the purple tube gets rolled up and placed in its little box, “you wouldn’t have seen his dick to measure it.” Steve shrugs. “Steve. Not funny. You haven’t seen Clint’s dick, right? Right?

Steve doesn’t answer him.

He ends with Bucky, because the big white chunky-knit sweater is going to take the longest. They spend Christmas morning in bed, listening to the Frank Sinatra Christmas album (at Bucky’s insistence) and drinking coffee. Bucky’s shirtless when he pulls on the sweater and tucks his nose down into the cowl collar. As he lounges back, his mouth a grin under the collar, Steve grabs his phone and snaps a picture, because there’s no way he can let this moment pass without a drawing.

But that will be later.