Krampus

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Image.This time of year always brings me back to my early days in Austria as a little girl growing up in the Alps.    My 5 siblings and I would be helping momma and papa prepare for the Holidays, each one of us doing what best we could.  Each one of us but one , that is.    Little Sammy, the youngest of us seemed to delight in making things difficult.  If mamma said, “Sammy, stay out of the strudel!”, Sammy would immediately go to the strudel and run his tongue over the icing.  No sooner had momma warned, “Sammy, stay away from the pudding!” then Sammy would go to the pudding,  look directly at momma and plunge his tiny fist into its center with such force that the pudding would splatter onto the lace table cloth.  Papa and momma would scold him and tell him, “Krampus will punish you!”, but Sammy just giggled.    While my other siblings and I were on our best behavior, fearing the punishment of Krampus, Little Sammy seemed to go out of his way to cause trouble.  When Krampus finally did arrive, my other siblings and I would cower in the corner hoping to go unnoticed but not Sammy, who would throw himself into the clanging iron chains Krampus clenched between his arms.  Sammy would then raise his bare little rosy rump skyward, eagerly anticipating the beating he would receive, begging Krampus not to spare him but to use the greenest of saplings to lacerate his buttocks.  Every year this would result in an exhausted Little Sammy who had peed himself from the pain,  as evident by the wetness of the chains where he had lain to receive his flogging, but as much as we hoped, he never seemed to learn.  Each year he was more and more naughty until, by the time, he was a teen, his once smooth buttocks resembled a Jackson Pollock paintingSee More

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During our visit last year to Dubai (which I detest,  by the way, but it’s one of the few places where you can still wear Dior and Cartier and not look conspicuous) ,  I was so impressed by the service at our various lodgings that I thought to myself,  “This would be a great place to find a new butler!”.  Naturally, I was kidding.  Nothing could induce me to replace our dear Mr. Davenport.   He has been with us for decades and is a rare example of Old Country servitude. Or, rather,  ALMOST nothing could induce me!.   Earlier in the month,  we had the most unfortunate accident.  While attempting to retrieve my Hermes dental dam holder from underneath the 17th century armoire  we recently purchased from Christie’s, he must have dislodged the loose claw foot while wriggling underneath.  We had noticed the defect(not that Christie’s would come down on the price over it!).    Well, the end result was that the  armoire toppled over and fell upon  Davenport!    I immediately feared for the worse! However, the armoire  appeared intact other than the broken leg. Unfortunately,  our dear Davenport seems to have suffered the brunt of the incident  His entire body was flattened under it with just  his legs sticking out like the wicked witch of the west.  Of course, my first thought was that this was precisely the image he was going for in order to cheer me.  I cried, “Now Davenport, I appreciate the effort but that armoire is priceless to me!  It cost more than three years of your salary!”.  I realize it is in poor taste to mention money in the presence of servants but, if you knew how long I had wanted a mahogany  armoire  of this era, you’d forgive me, believe me!    Sadly, Davenport was not being a prankster.    After much of an effort to rouse him, by repeating his name and throwing one of my Gucci mules at him, I finally took Antonio Banderas (my champion stud chihuahua) off my lap in order to ring for some help.  Well, little Antonio approached Davenport’s limp leg and began to hump it with great vigor!  Still no response.   Well, to cut to the chase, so to speak, Davenport was brought to the hospital via ambulance where his condition was quite precarious for some long time.  Finally we received the bad news that we would be needing a new butler as Davenport’s spine was crushed leaving him a quadriplegic.   Of course, the irony of it all is that a Davenport was destroyed by an armoire!  At least, it does make for dinner conversation.