I sat looking at my nutcrackers, making mental notes about their similarities and differences. I came to the conclusion that nutcracking must be an exceptionally violent and/or dangerous profession. Four of the six nutcrackers I own bear a weapon of some sort. Even Santa Nutcracker carries a sword, leading me to wonder what kind of crazy- ass homes he’s delivering to.
The first, given to me as a gift, whom I call Sir Purple Pants (no explanation required), carries a polearm. Over time, it seems, violence in the nutcracker world has escalated. Two, acquired in subsequent years, carry swords. The most recent member of the collection carries an axe.
DH was passing through the living room as I wondered about Axe Man. I asked DH what might have happened in Axe Man’s life to cause him to decide that a sword just wouldn’t do. Without a moment’s hesitation DH replied, “Oh, he’s the palace guard. They bar the door with their axes.”
We went on to discuss Drummer Dude. I queried whether his family might be disappointed in his failure to adhere to the family’s weapon wielding traditions. DH said “Everyone needs a drummer. How else are they gonna have a theme song as they ride into battle?”
The greatest departure, from the seemingly war themed nutcrackers, is the fancy fellow in the tartan waistcoat. It was decided that we caught him on his night off and he is on his way to a holiday party. He’s laid aside his weapon – polearm, sword, or axe, we don’t know – to free up both hands, lest he should drop the gayly wrapped hostess gift he is balancing, somewhat gingerly, on one palm.
This. This is why you marry someone. Because they do not question you when delving into the back-stories of the inanimate objects that populate your home during the holidays. They join you in your weirdness. That’s just about the best thing ever.