I’m just going to bitch a minute. Sit down. Have a drink. Join me.
Have you ever been sick, but not really SICK SICK, but miserable-no-energy-totally anti-social-because-no-one-should-have-to-be-around-you sick? I’ve been that way for the better part of a month now. I’m down to just an slightly unnerving dizziness and some kvetching, which is an improvement over last week when I didn’t even have the energy or desire to complain about anything other than people who jump the light at the Greenline crosswalk on Graham. And that barely counts.
Some people like to be tended to when they’re sick. I like to be left the hell alone. So, in that sense, it’s no different than when I’m well. And I glare at people the same way sick or not. I enjoy being brought the occasional cup of tea or getting the odd neck massage, but other than that you better run for the hills because when I feel bad I start to cry. A lot. And no one needs to see that. No one.
I would like to be one of those girls whose tears are made of morning dew and whose little chapped red button nose only adds to her adorableness. The girl who always has men giving her handkerchiefs. Hell, I would like to be the kind of girl who’s around men who still carry handkerchiefs. And drink whiskey neat. And wear hats. Oh, wait. I’m married to one of those men.
Anyway, all of this is to say my annual debate with myself about decorating the house for Christmas has begun. I like decorating the house. I just don’t like the taking down part. Maybe I need to find a taker downer whose OCD manifests itself by the need to wrap tiny ornaments in bubble wrap? You know anyone like that? Generally I cave and give my family the following admonishment:
You are NOT to enjoy these decorations. You are not to look at them. If you do not participate in the decorating or clean up, you do not get to bask in the glory of a well-decorated Christmas tree and sideboard draped with evergreen swag. These decorations are purely for MY enjoyment and that of our guests should I actually get around to inviting anyone over. Should you be witnessed deriving any joy from these decorations, you will be eating left-over creamed beef surprise for A MONTH. A MONTH.
That works about as well as asking a toddler not to run around with his diaper on his head. Or hammering Jello to a tree. Fortunately, I’ve given up Pinterest so I don’t have to see pictures of Super Woman’s perfectly decorated mantle, kitchen, SUV, bedroom, tree house, and dog trot. Nor do I have to endure any cute ideas about what to have that creepy Elf on the Shelf dude do.
My neighbor has kept her Christmas tree up for sixteen years. Her tree can drive. Next year it will be able to go to an R rated movie alone. Hers used to be the first Christmas card we got every year, but I think she’s realized she’ll never get on in return so, you know, she can save that one for her chiropractor. I’m thinking of designing some cards for those of us who like the idea of sending holiday greetings, but don’t want to be merry about it. And perhaps a combination holiday card slash get well. The holidays make everyone sick in one way or another. As a bonus? This project requires neither the wearing of pants or the application of concealer. SOLD.