Bathroom Monologues: The Winning Goddess

The same woman won every year. She was a goddess, which would be an unfair advantage in a district with a lower average income. Not on Park Street, though. Here she was simply more imaginative. Being a harvest goddess, her wreath grew out of the door, alive and natural. Verdant bushes sprang up with the first snow, bearing bright red fruits to give her lawn that Christmas color decor. Her snowmen farmed their own raisins and carrots, and were such snappy dressers that they got her top points every year. Clouds of fireflies descended on her roof and windows, their glowing hinds blinking in perfect synchronicity, giving her energy-efficient Christmas lights. On Sundays, they spelled out the scores of the biggest games. Nobody could compete with her manger, either. With a snap of her fingers she had every necessary animal walking out of the bushes and taking its place. Where she got a newborn every year was up to speculation. How it survived out the cold for a week as various judges came by? Now that was a miracle.