In exciting news, The Electrician and I put up our Christmas tree nearly a week ago. It’s the first tree I’ve had as an adult, other than the “Hystmas” pine I erected in honour of sending my uterus packing five years ago. I don’t think a tree decorated with Tampax really counts toward the yuletide spirit, so we’re counting the little tree in our basement as my first official Christmas tree.
My momma and The Electrician’s mom both sent the carefully wrapped-up ornaments they collected for us while we were children, and now they grace the tree we inherited from my husband’s grandparents. It’s not a big tree, but it sits on Wal-Mart’s finest polyester skirt–don’t worry, the sequins make it classy–and it’s decorated with the ornaments we both acquired years before we dreamed of each other and the bits and pieces we picked up on sale last week. By mutual agreement, our tree is blue, teal, and lime, with silver. “Mutual agreement” means I suggested a colour scheme I knew my husband wouldn’t cringe at, and he agreed to run with my idea. I love that man.
We’ve been married a whopping four months today: people have warned me the shiny will wear off, that we’re in a honeymoon phase where everything is peaches and caramel ice cream, but I don’t think that’s it at all. I’m married to a fantastic human being, and I love him more by the day.
Let’s cut that goop-fest short, before you all start gagging on your egg nog. I apologize for my little jaunt into Sapsville, conveniently located in the heartland county of Lovestruck, Sentimental.
Much like a parent who’s super pumped to show the kiddies their first Christmas tree, I giggled as I brought Sherman into the basement to gaze at the beauty that is our tree. I didn’t know what he’d do, particularly since the not-quite majestic (according to me) “northern pine” (according to the box) is lit with twinkling lights and a rather blingtastic silver star.
At first, he wasn’t too sure. Sherman was reluctant to get anywhere near the tree, perhaps because dogs are apparently colour blind and he is unable to appreciate how well-coordinated it is. He may also have inherited The Electrician’s sequin allergy. It could go either way, really.
Like any red-blooded dog, Sherman’s next question seemed to be, “It appears to be a tree, so do you mind if I pee on it?” The answer of course, is an emphatic “no!” and he didn’t do anything beyond the warning sniff. Eventually, he settled on his bed to hang out with the family as usual, casually watching television and poking his head up occasionally to see if he could weasel his way into an ear scratch.
Here he is, in what really should have been our Christmas card photo, had I gotten my butt in gear a little earlier this year. Seven days until the big one, ladies and gents. May your holiday season bring you all its best.
Except green bean casserole: Christmas is much merrier without it.
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