No, this is not a misspelling. My name is Mary Christmas, and while I don't admit to my age, Marjie's grandmother, who was a phenomenal artist, made me as part of a window dressing in a fancy department store in Boston in the early 1950s. My face is sculpted from cornflake crumbs, my dress handstitched from the finest velvet and fur, and I even have proper unmentionables and shoes from the 1890s, a beautiful and glorious era for ladies' couture, indeed. These days, I spend my time in a mirrored curio, with a doll stand to support me when these shoes pinch my feet too much.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.