I’d thought ahead enough to check the strings of light to be sure that they were working before I began. What I didn’t think about was connecting them together. Turns out, there are “male” and “female” plugs. I’m trying to think of a way to put this delicately, so let’s just say my poor was celibate.
I’m fairly sure my scream could be heard two towns over. That, and the torrent of curse words that seemed to flow from my mouth as if a dam had burst. Words I didn’t even know I knew spewed forth like molten lava, rolling gleefully and with utter abandon from my mouth.
Aubrie and Elyse were laughing so hard, tears were streaming down their eyes. Then they realized that I was looking at them with steam coming out of my ears. They ran faster than Frosty from a greenhouse.
Yep, I’d proven again that I was no Martha Stewart.
I stood there glaring at The Beast. Then, I fumed, fussed, plotted, planned and even cajoled. There was NO WAY I was taking all those ornaments off that stupid garland to start over. Finally, a decision was made. I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, grabbed my purse and went to the store for more lights. I planned to drape them over, under, and around the decorations, making a chain which would plug all the lights together, including the original ones.
By the time I was done, I lit that bad boy up – and, boy did it ever LIGHT UP! If I’d known Morse code, I could have signaled a space invasion from opposite sides of the planet. Fortunately – for the family – no one said a word about the brief interruption in power, or the fact that their eyes were burning as surely as if they had been staring at the sun.
They oohed and ahhed, and told me what a lovely job I’d done (after they’d pilfered through their rooms to find sunglasses). They didn’t think I’d noticed that they occasionally glanced nervously at the sky in the event an errant plane thought it had found its runway.
But it was done, it was up, and I was finished! I’d had my fill of Christmas crafts for, well, ever. My new motto is if I can’t buy it, we don’t need it. And if I want it badly enough, I can usually whine and annoy someone else to do it for me. To me, Martha, THAT’S a good thing.
It’s been a few years now, and I’ve learned a thing or two. Dogs and the beast don’t get along well. As they bound up the stairs, their tails inevitably break a few ornaments or take out a string of lights. By the time we take it down, the beast looks like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. The next year, we tie it to the banister first and then replace broken or tattered ornaments. We don’t even bother re-doing the lights. We just drape new strings on top of the old ones. Once it’s lit, though, you can barely notice (that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it).
So, if you come to my house at Christmas time, feel free to admire the Beast. Word of advice, however; don’t look too closely or allow a body part to come into contact with it. Remember that shock thing?? That’s not such a good thing.
For those that observe it, may your Chanukah be as warm and bright as the light on the Menorah.