sock monkeys

Ok, I have a hit-or-miss history with door prizes. For the most part, they miss me. But I was SOOOO sure I was all set to win this one. It was the big, end of the year, no holds barred, Christmas door decoration contest at my place of work. Now, I knew all along that I would be at the mercy of unknown judges. I was tempted to decorate my door with a model of stonehenge, complete with illuminated sun dangling at the precise angle to cast solstice shadows on the surrounding field, with the quote "Solstice: the REAL reason for the season" and something about Jesus's real birthday being...whenever it was supposed to have been (I was gonna look that one up). But then I thought, "No, the judges will undoubtedly be evangelicals who would not appreciate that one, and the prize is $100..." So I decided to go for a holiday theme that would engage people at an emotional level. I thought and thought and thought, and came up with the obvious choice: sock monkeys. Everybody loves sock monkeys. Or, so I thought. Just mention the word "sock monkey" and most people raised in the south will get a warm-fuzzy feeling and think of their grandmothers or their mothers sewing away at the loveable toys that they clutched in their grubby little hands as children. I was surprised to talk to an African-American co-worker from Mississippi who had never heard of sock monkeys, so maybe they're an anglo-american, rural, southern phenomenon.
But sock monkeys alone didn't seem to be enough. Then I thought: The Nutcracker! Perfect! The tune is eating away at my brain even now.
My brain-busting idea for a seasonal door decoration, the dance of the suugarplum sock monkey fairies, complete with pink tissue-paper tutus and with a close-up shot of all my coworkers and bosses gracing the faces of each little monkey, seemed a sure-fire winner. I thought the final result was FABULOUS. And I was already counting my winnings. "This year," I thought, "This year will be MY year!" I'd lost the competition once before when I was sure I would win, but I didn't think that the unthinkable could happen yet again.
I knew I was up against some fierce competition. Across the hall, my friend Heidi had constructed an absolutely gorgeous gingerbread-house door, complete with giant candycane porch-step rails. I also suspected some last-minute technological miracles from Stacy in the next hall. And some of the other doors were notable for their humor and/or detail work. But I was pretty sure I had them all beaten. I mean, SOCK MONKEYS IN TUTUS WITH OUR FACES!!!! How could that possibly lose?!?!? We all looked so cute!
So the judging proceeded and we all awaited the outcome with our best "Who, me? Naw! Did I really win? Not little ole me?" false-modesty faces in readiness (because we all secretly thought we would win, of course). And then the winners were announced.
There was a first-prize winner: Stacy, one of the odds-on favorites.
There was a second prize winner: an outsider named Reba who put on an unprecedented show of speed in the final furlong and came from nowhere to claim the $50 second prize.
And the judges, not being happy with anything as conventional as one third-place prize, split third place between 5, yes FIVE, contestants, none of whom was I.
A sad day. A sad day indeed.
But I know in my heart that my door should have won. And in my mind (and probably in the false-memory that will eventually supplant the objective truth somewhere down the line in my future) my door was the winner.