I’ll be honest. I’ve been slow to warm to Christmas.
When I was a kid, my brother and I made the yuletide bright mostly by waiting in an agreed-upon supermarket parking lot halfway between our parents respective evil lairs and being caught in the traditional children-of-bitter-divorce crossfire. Then later there would be cookies.
No one asked what we wanted for Christmas and as an adult, Christmas presents were firmly tucked into the For The Children nook of holiday cheer.
This year is different, and I discovered this year is different because Hot Latin Boy –who is a total curve-ruining overachiever– casually mentioned about all the millions of manhours he’s putting into my present, which I’m 99% positive is a “secret garden” full of my favorite plants and flowers from Texas and Virginia so I don’t feel homesick at Villa Plumcake.
That’s great and all, but it doesn’t exactly cast a golden luster on my gift to him, a white ceramic pineapple (a nod to an inside joke) that I’m not even going to giftwrap, lest it alert the border patrol.
It DID get me thinking what grand gift I really would like though, and for the first time in years, I’ve actually got one in mind.
Of course there’s the old standby:
(That, my friends, is the making of one FILTHY Venn Diagram)
but in the off chance Gaspar, Balthazar and Melchior DON’T manage to bring me Zizou, Xabi and Mou (I’m still going to wax, just in case) what I want more than anything in the whole wide world is a plaza-worn Traje de Luces.
Say what you will about bullfighting –despite Villa Plumcake being tantalizingly close to the Plaza Monumental, I’ve never brought myself to see a corrida the highly-embellished “suit of lights” is the pinnacle of beauty in a male couture garment.
And of course the bodies in them aren’t terrible either.
Of course I have a lot of my shoes, scarves and jewelry on display, but I also wear them. I’d never wear a traje.
Understandably, trajes are thousands of dollars new, and used ones fetch even higher prices if worn in the ring by a famous torero like Manolete, the James Dean of bullfighting.
I still don’t know if I’ll ever see a correo (I’ve heard they have no-kill ones, and I’d jump at the chance for that) or whether I’ll just stick with my Hemingway and Almodovar, but I’ve been pretty damn good this year and I sure would like to find a traje under my tree…you know, if Zizou and the boys don’t fit.