Underwear?!??!!!

Do you remember that feeling of anticipation you used to get in the weeks leading up to Christmas? Not the one you get now. Not the, 'hooray, I get a few days off from that time-sucking black hole I call a job' feeling. Not that one. I'm talking about the one you got when you were young. The 'I don't know what's wrapped under that tree, but I just might blow a coronary if I have to wait any longer to open it' feeling. That's the one.

The sensation is a beautiful thing in itself. That level of unrestricted excitement rarely occurs in adulthood.

Think back again. Gift wrap flying into the air at the mercy of tiny but eager hands. Your mom nervously begging you to be careful. Your old man priding himself on his spectacular wrapping job. Your brother freaking out when he realized it was HIS gift you were opening.

Good times.

When I was in early grade school, there was nothing I wanted more than He-Man action figures. I can't remember what the allure was about those things. Maybe it was a subconscious aspiration to look like a steroid infested body builder who rode a tiger and had magical friends. Maybe it was a desire to participate in the cosmic struggle of good vs. evil. More likely, I just wanted to identify with a man who found it socially acceptable to walk around in his underwear and carry a battleaxe with him wherever he went.

Mom never did let me have a battleaxe.

Nevertheless. Do you remember the year you didn't get what you wanted? That fateful year when the packages that had held so much promise actually contained something you didn't ask for. The ritual described above proceeded in much the same way, but instead of pulling a new Ram-man or Orko from the cellophane you got....underwear.

"Underwear?!??!!!"

There's nothing inherently wrong with underwear. It wasn't even that I particularly disliked it--after all, it worked for He-Man. The worst part was that feeling of unfulfilled expectations. And then, having to thank the giver of the gift for something that was CLEARLY a disappointment.

That's how autumn has been in Minneapolis this year. I so looked forward to the beautiful hues and unending weeks of low 60's temps--not too warm, not too cold. But that's not what we've gotten. Instead there were a few days of nice tempatures accompanied by stiff winds that blew all the leaves from the trees before they could be enjoyed. What should have been a reddish-orange delight to my eyes is now a brown crunchy mess under my feet.

This morning was dark and sleety. Tomorrow will be the same. Friday will be the same. Autumn is supposed to be the season that makes a life in Minnesota worthwhile, and it hardly made an appearance this year.

Sigh.

All my hopes for He-Man action figures have ended in underwear this Fall.

Oh, and the irony of a similar fate befalling my beloved Twins is not lost on me.