Bill's Musings

Last year, I wrote about my disdain for decorating for Christmas. By disdain, I actually mean despise with every fibre of my being. I went on to describe how I had developed Chameleon-like skills, melting into the background in order to avoid decorating, then miraculously re-appearing just in time to enjoy the results of “our” (ahem..wink-wink) hard labour.

I shouldn’t have written that. Apparently, Anne actually reads these things, and now knows my tricks. It’s a cautionary tale, friends. Be careful what you put down on paper, as it were.

Left with little choice but to actually help this year, I steeled myself for this day. I tried the ‘mention it a thousand times to the point where they don’t want your help’ ploy. That didn’t work. I tried the ‘fake arm cast/leg in a sling’ ploy. Nope. I even went all out and forced myself to vomit. She sprayed…