You’re going to merely surprise your parents for Thanksgiving and, since you brought the car this time, bring back all the things. These things will, naturally, include your Christmas decorations, housed in a very old cardboard box that’s supposed to look like wood grain. Newsflash: it’s not kidding anyone. Also the lid is dipping in the middle because chances are that box is older than you. This box will singlehandedly set you into a holiday tizzy because 1. you love the holidays and 2. you have a penchant for getting tizzy. Just kind of all the time.
So you’ll come home. You’ll take all the things out of the box and you’ll set them up in a pile in your living room to look upon adoringly till Husband boxes them back up, citing that they’re “in the way” (of what? WHAT ARE THEY IN THE WAY OF, HMMM?), but don’t worry — you’ll get to put them all out this weekend when you get your tree. Christmas tree. I could pee my pants right now just thinking about it.
But when Husband isn’t home, you’ll start doing a little decorating. Just here and there.
You’ll go to Hobby Lobby and you’ll buy even more things because there is no such thing as too many Christmas decorations.
You’ll put up your Christmas wreath on your front door.
You’ll remember you have another wreath and stick it on your storage closet door (it’s never looked so festive!)
You’ll take out all the snowflake lights and string them around your pseudo-fence.
You’ll understand why your father hates putting up Christmas lights.
You’ll re-string them about four times because the cord isn’t quite long enough.
Then you’ll discover they’re the type of lights that — when you remove one bulb — all go dark. So you hang them, ghetto style, with the lights trailing from the fence to the outlet.
You’ll keep the blinds open as long as you possibly can to stare at them, till Husband announces he needs them closed so he can walk around in his underwear.
Then you’ll be kind of sad.
I’m an impatient kid. I have been my entire life. The space of time between tonight (Wednesday) and Friday morning seems like an eternity away. I might die between now and then. I might have one of my legs amputeed. The sky’s the limit, people. Alas, I don’t think I am actually capable of tying a Christmas tree to the roof of my car and transporting it to our living room without someone’s eye (mine) getting poked out, and also Husband would want basically nothing less than for me to tie a Christmas tree to the roof of my car. Which begs the question how we’re getting one home because I sure as heck am not going to walk with a 4 foot tree a mile or two just to save the finish on an entry-level Nissan.
That’s not true. I would absolutely do that.