Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

Oh Christmas tree

My husband went to bed angry last night. Oh, I suppose that’s nothing new, despite my original plan of “never go to bed angry”. I wonder if we were married a week when that flew out the window. But last night’s argument was hardly the blow out of epic proportions one would expect from us (we do have a history of fiery verbal exchange). It was more of a quiet burn…like a candle, or a string of Christmas lights.

Right. Christmas lights. That’s exactly how we got into this mess. I decided to put up the Christmas tree. It was time…December first…and I was more than ready. I’d been itching for days to pull out the decorations and get down to business. I may have been a bit overzealous. Ok, more than a little.  I was like a rabid chipmunk hepped up on coffee and sugar. So, I like Christmas, a lot. Don’t judge me.

The husband does not like decorating for Christmas. He avoids it as fiercely as he avoids setting foot in a karaoke bar filled with single cougars.  I might be exaggerating…slightly. After all, he agreed to help me with the lights last night.

Ah, regret. Yes, I regret asking for his help, at all. The longer we tangled with lights, the more annoyed (and annoying) he became. But the nail in the Christmas coffin was when I plugged in the tree to discover more than half the lights didn’t light.

A Christmas catastrophe of the worst kind.

I won’t go into details (they’re far too painful and fresh) but suffice it to say, he went to bed angry and I stayed up, staring at the randomly lit tree from across the room, willing it to fix itself.

It didn’t.

I used to laugh at my parents and their annual Christmas tree fight. I used to think they were overly dramatic and silly. I used to think decorating was a team event and everyone would help out with big smiles and frothing mugs of cocoa as we moved in tandem, listening to classic Christmas music as we worked.

Yeah, right. People bitch and moan as they untangle lights, then storm off to find brown liquor to drown their sorrows. 

This is why I start decorating early. I need time each year to cool off and enjoy the season after the whole tree debacle.  My tree is still bare. Or at least partially bare. My husband woke up early, grumbling like a bear with a thorn in his bottom, trying to find swap the broken lights with fresh ones…with little success, unfortunately. I guess I’ll be making a trip to Home Depot today if I want Christmas lights tonight.

Maybe I’ll pick up a bottle of that brown liquor while I’m out. I might need it.

Until the next time…I’ll be making Christmas.

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