Nuttin’ for Christmas

So it finally happened. The day I have been dreading. This year I inherited part of my Christmas legacy.  I received my mother’s Nutcracker collection.  I know that most people would see this as a good thing, a mother passing down  some of her favorite decorations  to her daughter, because make no mistake, my Mom loves her some Nutcracker.  The problem is with me.  I don’t.  In fact, I find the Nutcracker kinda creepy. Bare in mind that I’m the girl who also celebrated and still embraces Krampusnacht and has a small collection of Living Dead Dolls.   By the way, I am happy to report,  Krampus  did not leave me switches this year nor was I  thrown into a burlap bag and tossed  into an icy river.  I was a good girl this year.

I honestly think that my problem stems with horror movies, which I love.  Maybe it’s because any good Nutcracker looks a little like something Lon Chaney Sr. would create, or it could be that I’ve just seen one too many “a doll comes to  life and tries to kill you in your sleep” movies.   I can’t help but be reminded of that scene in Child’s Play where Catherine Hicks catches a glimpse  of evil serial killer possessed Chuckie running from the corner of her eye.   Of course, my Living Dead Dolls would never do this, they are upfront in their evil – not so with nutcrackers. I  have always eyed them with suspicion.  Yes, they came out at Christmas  and they should be all festive  but I suspected something a little more sinister was going on at night when visions of sugar plums were dancing in my head.  And of course their painted on eyes were always staring me.  Always.

And now they are mine.

So the worst part about the nutcracker collection? Obviously I have to put them out. If my Mom stopped by and saw I didn’t have them on display – well  she’d get all Krampus on me.  I just don’t have any shelf or counter space for them in my new place.  I don’t have any bookcases or shelving yet …so there is only one place with the space for my creepy wooden friends.

The bathroom…

where they can watch me shower.  It’s like having 8 Norman Bates in the bathroom with you.  Oh look, the one with the ax has worked his way up front.