What’s in YOUR stocking?

Miss Crankypants is is a little down today. She didn’t get the red velveteen UGG-LY boots she had her heart set on. There was some mix up at the North Pole, she understands, one that got her stuck with a gift she had to buy for herself. Her tireless husband had tried to find said gift, but he apparently never shops at bargain grocery stores. So Miss CP took it upon herself to bring home the jewelry tree.
But she refused to wrap it. “The day I wrap my own gift,” she declared, “hell will have frozen over and the Mayans will be roasting marshmallows on a Coleman stove.
That’s why Miss Cranky is going through post-Christmas letdown, the part where you can finally stop hoping for the full carat ear studs or the brand-new Lexus-with-matching-red-bow. Even so, Miss CP’s Christmas disappointment is nothing compared to her Adventures in Homemade Gift-making.
Her hubby loves fudge, and normally she buys a cute little box of confection with walnuts. This year, her neighbor, a Martha Stewart clone, sent over some awesome perfect squares of homemade fudge , so Miss CP decided it might be fun to make her own candy instead.
She quickly learned that Russell Stover is way cheaper. She could feed the family lobster tail for a week on what these fudgie ingredients set her back. Undaunted, she armed herself with a whole lot of cholesterol-raising weapons: butter, chocolate chips, this horrible sticky marshmallow goo and about ten pounds of sugar.
Then she asked the fateful question: How hard could it be?
She got out a gi-normous saucepan and began to stir. And stir. And she began to think about the AS SEEN ON TV AUTOMATIC STIRRER THINGIE she’d just pooh-poohed at the bargain grocery. And she stirred some more.
As she was stirring (now she knows why “Twas the Night Before Christmas” says “not a creature was stirring.” Ever tried to get someone to help you stir a bubbling cauldron for three hours?) she read the directions.
What a concept! Directions! Hmm. Something about a candy thermometer. Miss Crankypants laughed maniacally. She don’ need no stinking candy thermometer! She set the timer and stirred some freakin’ more.
The bell tolled. Miss Cranky’s arm had fallen off several minutes earlier, so she was happy to finally kick stirring to the curb. The directions: “Pour mixture into foil-lined pan.”
She did. Added in the vanilla, which she found is not a good team player, . No. Vanilla must be added later, all by itself. Way to hog all the attention, vanilla. Then Miss CP waited. Poked the fudge. Gooey. Waited some more. Nope.
She reread the instructions. NOWHERE, she swears, did the directions say anything about praying. But after a night in the freezer, her fudge (while sort of tasty) has the consistency of runny pudding. Or thick chocolate milk, take your pick.
Miss Crankypants was about to sink to the floor for a good cry, when she got this brilliant idea: She’d tell all the relatives she was serving reindeer poo. If she poked the fudge enough, it held a cow pie shape just long enough to present to that Fancy Pants neighbor-who-makes-perfect-fudge.
But don’t hold your breath–in a minute or two the reindeer pellets dissolved back into a blob. You’ve heard of a tunnel of fudge cake? Miss Crankypants is thinking of  calling her new creation a Puddle of Fudge. And a Happy New Year to you too.