Bill's Musings

Christmas decorations. Oh, how I love them. Especially when I don’t have to put them up. I think I’d rather have a fat, tattooed man corn-row my back hair than me have to put them up. Yep. I hate it that much. It’s an issue I’ve been dealing with since childhood. I will go to whatever lengths necessary to avoid hanging just one ornament. I don’t mind taking them out, mind you, but actually decorating, no way.

When I was a child, and the time came to take out the decorations from the attic, we would all gather round, my siblings and I, and help my folks turn our house from ordinary home to a veritable Santa’s Workshop. Or so my family thinks. I developed, early on, the ability to fade into the background, kind of like a Chameleon. While things got done, nobody noticed me, until, like a mini Christmas miracle, I would pop back, sweat on my brow from the hard work we had all done as a team, and enjoy the spoils of our toils. This skill has come in handy over the years, believe me.

So why would this year be any different? Anne has been decorating our place for years, and she is truly gifted at it. I lug out the boxes and bins, and she, with her inner decorator self, would transform our home into a festive one….all while I sip a cup of hot chocolate, wearing a turtle-neck sweater and casual slacks. Well, never mind the turtle-neck sweater and slacks. You kind of have to have a neck of sorts to pull off a turtle-neck, and slacks just aren’t my thing. So, as I sip my hot chocolate, wearing slippers and underwear, Anne decorates, sometimes with the help of our two boys. If I see any indication that I might be called into the fray, I use my Chameleon-like skills to fade into the background, have a bath, surf, and just generally disappear until it’s all done.

Wouldn’t you know, however, that Anne has noticed that I do this. In fact, she says, she’s always known. Huh. And she’s doing her best to make me change my evil ways. Good luck with that, lady.

I came home from my friend’s place on Sunday to get his heat going. I went with Alex and Mackie. When we came home, we noticed the shovel outside had been moved, even noticed that there were fresh footprints in the snow. After coming in, and putting our coats and boots away, Anne went on to ask me how the Christmas tree on our front deck gets plugged in, as all the plugs are kind of mixed up. And I asked the question that got me into trouble: what tree on our front deck?

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. Apparently, while we were out, she lugged this heavy tree to the front, took it out of the box, set it up, had it fall on her, and, for the most part, got the plugs  in order except for one. And all three of us walked in to the house and never even noticed that there was a tree where there hadn’t been a thing one hour before. Huh. Imagine that.

Gentlemen, I’m here to tell you that there are even seasonal dog-houses we as men can put ourselves into. So, while Anne is gone for a ride to fume over our total disregard for the work she’s been doing, the effort she’s put forth to make our home warm and inviting, I have had to put my Chameleon skills to rest, suck it up, and go decorate the front tree so that I don’t get another lump of coal in my stocking this year.

Merry Christmas, everyone!!